


Gently Weeps

by rolloverbeethoven



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, George needs help, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Please give it a read you might like it maybe, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolloverbeethoven/pseuds/rolloverbeethoven
Summary: Angry mobs surround their hotels and concerts during their 1966 US tour. They hire a bodyguard to protect them from the crowds. However, the bodyguard has his own idea of revenge, and is willing to stop at nothing before he destroys the band from withinRape/non-con elements, anxiety, depression trigger warningsPlease give it a read. All the boys have big parts in this so your favourite's in there somewhereAll the chapters are gonna be updated a lot but pretty small for easy reading
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr
Comments: 130
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy it xx

He looked across at all the people, scanning his eyes across the various signs and posters that have been made just for them. His eyes settle on a poster with the four Beatles in orange cellophane that he was sure was meant to be fire. Upon seeing the angry mob holding up the poster, his mind flashed through his memories of vinyls being burnt out the front of the hotel, screams about their deaths and cherry bombs exploding. Suddenly eager to get off stage, he looked across at John, who moved his hand for the next chord. His ears were ringing. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sound of these concerts. He saw John’s hand move down, and although he couldn’t hear it, he knew the song was over, and he bowed over in time with George and John. 

The four of them rushed off stage. The tour was only a short while off ending, and all four of them were exhausted. Paul handed his bass to a stagehand and set off to find Brian. He found his speaking to the producers and concert planners. “Hey Brian, we’re ready to head off.” Paul pulled at his blazer like an impatient child. He was anxious to get out of there before the crowds found their bus. “Okay Paul, I'll be with you in a minute.” Brian replied, curtly, as he turned back to his conversation.

Paul meandered back over to the other three. He figured he’d just wait for Brian to come over to them. He didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of a stern talking to about manners, which was where he was heading if he wanted to keep on bugging Brian.

The four of them sat on the floor. Ringo was asleep against a chair and George and John were going through the lineup for the next concert. Paul sat down next to them, taking a spare guitar. 

The three strummed away for quite some time, until Brian approached them. “Lads, sorry for the wait.” John huffed as George shook Ringo. Paul just stood up, and followed John and Brian to the door. 

As Brian opened the door, Paul suddenly felt a wave of nausea pass through him. Somebody had been tipped off where the bus had been waiting, and there was a crowd that looked a great deal larger than the lot that were in the concert. Paul braced himself, and kept himself close to John. Despite the police’s best efforts, he felt hair being ripped out of his skull and his face being scratched. As he reached the safety of the bus, he rushed in and pulled George and Ringo with him. 

He rested his head against the seat, his heart pumping. He opened his eyes again, and saw George with a scratch across his cheek, and John with a bruise on his face. “Some wanker socked me face,” He heard John call out, placing a hand on his face to detect any blood.

The four were quiet until they reached the hotel. They fought a similar battle on entry to the hotel. Paul made a mental note to never travel to the South again.

They reached John and George’s hotel room. “Would it really be so bad to apologise?” Ringo’s words rang through the silent space. The statement was sure to fire John up, but something had to be done. People wanted to kill them over some little stupid comment John made. “He’s right John, we know you meant nothin’ by it, it’s just we’ve still got at least another week of the tour, we can’t keep doin’ this.” Paul heard himself say. John turned towards Paul, narrowing his eyes. John opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead turning to George. “What about you, Georgie, seeing as everyone wants to gang up on me, what do you think?” George looked up from his daydream, surprised he had been called on. “I don’t mind what you do just as long as I don't have to do that again.” John turned to his bed, “Well I’m not apologising.” Paul scoffed, “John, they’re going crazy out there. We’ve still got another week, and you’re mad if you don’t think this could end with one of us killed.”

John stood up, staring Paul directly in the eye. Paul sure was in for it now. A rattle in the door was the only thing that saved him. All four boys directed their attention to the door. It swung open slowly and Brian appeared. “What’s all this, then,” Brian asked, sensing the ongoing argument. John opened his mouth to speak, but Ringo’s voice echoes through the room, “John’s not going to apologise for his Jesus thing.” Brian sighed, “You’re really not going to apologise?” He looked at John, “No. Not ever” John said, matter-of-factly, and sensing he was about to get his way. “Alright,” Brian’s voice sounded tired, he had tried convincing John to apologise on three seperate occasions, and he really had just given up, “How about we just hire another bodyguard and see how that goes.” 

Paul didn’t think it would help anything, but it was probably the best solution they had. A chorus of agreement came from the four Beatles. It was amazing how good Brian was at calming down situations like that. 

Night time came around, and Paul could still hear the calls and jeers from the crowd downstairs. He tried his hardest to tune it out, but sometimes it was really difficult. “I can’t do this anymore,” Paul groaned into his pillow. “S’alright Paulie, we’ll be back soon,” He heard ringo say opposite him. He really hoped so. He closed his eyes again as he tried to imagine himself sitting in the peace and quiet of home.


	2. Chapter 2

They didn’t have to be out until 11am. Today they could take it easy in the morning. Ringo lay across Paul, as John sat in the corner reading the newspaper and George sat on the floor strumming his guitar. They had a box of chocolate croissants on the table for breakfast.

It had been a long night last night, all of them staying awake, watching the local news as it showed reports of Beatle memorabilia being burned. Ringo listened to the interviews with the members of those mobs, explaining why they hated the Beatles. It was so jarring for the beloved 'fab four' to face all this hate and anger. They simply hadn't experienced it before, and it was taking a toll on all of their minds. He knew they all just couldn't wait to be back home.

The sun streamed in through the open window, the tv turned up as loud as possible to block out the sounds of the crowds. They were waiting for Brian to come back with a new bodyguard. Brian had managed to contact a security agency, who interviewed and presented a bodyguard for them to hire. Ringo was glad they have him before they had to brave the crowds that day.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Brian. “Lads, would you come meet Ralph. He’ll be your new bodyguard.” John stepped towards the door, the others close behind. The door opened, and Ringo saw the giant man. He was huge, at least 6 foot tall. “You’d be Ringo?” He said, sticking his hand forward. Ringo snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at the man while shaking his hand. “Yep,” was all he said.

The man sat in their room, getting to know the boys. He sat inJohn's seat, and John took his place next to Paul on one of the beds. He seemed a bit off to Ringo, a bit odd in the way he conducted himself. He put it down to the culture difference between the Americans and the Brits. 

He had a heavy southern accent, and obviously came from around these parts. He mainly spoke to John and Paul. George was normally quiet in the presence of strangers and Ringo just didn’t feel like talking.

Ralph soon left with Brian to go meet Mal and the rest of the security team. “He was a bit odd, don’t you think?” John addressed the room. “Yeah,” Paul and George chimed, and Ringo simply nodded his head. “Maybe it’s just Americans,” Ringo said, “Ah, Ringo, always the racist,” George chuckled. The group were just glad to have a new bodyguard, and were hoping Brian’s plan would work.


	3. Chapter 3

Walking in through the doors of the agency, Ralph signs in and sits in the waiting room. As soon as he received the call that he had received the job, he was at work and ready to meet their manager.

He had jumped at the opportunity to be the Beatles’ new bodyguard. He heard what Mr. Lennon had to say, his egotistical interview that landed the Beatles in boiling water. He hated them for that. He hated Lennon the most, but he supposed they were all just as bad. Many people here felt the same way. There were lots of angry mobs and groups, and Ralph and his friends had gotten involved, yelling death threats and clawing at the group whenever they came out of their concerts. He was truly furious as this small band of so-called geniuses.

This new job meant he could get as close to the Beatles as possible. He was in charge of protecting them. He would be in the best position to punish their heresy and egos. He was going to teach them a lesson.

A Mr. Epstein led him through the hotel and into the room. He shook hands with each Beatle, his blood boiling. He tried his absolute hardest to not show anything. If he was going to succeed, he needed to fully convince them that he was there to protect them.

He spoke with them for a while, saw the way they spoke of the crowds that rioted beneath them. Initially, his aim was to get John to apologise. He decided now that what he needed to do was make an example of them and do something a lot worse. 

He was going to break up their band. He set out his new plan. As he spoke to the men, he set about picking a victim. He knew he couldn’t get to John or Paul, who seemed the most sure of themselves out of the lot. If anything happened to them, the world would know about it. And they wouldn’t hesitate to point fingers, that Ralph knew.

He knew he needed to go for the quieter ones. He looked at both George and Ringo. George was looking at his guitar as he strummed the instrument. Looking across the room to Ringo, he could see the boy trying to figure him out. He knew then he couldn’t risk anything with Ringo. 

He decided on George, sure he was quieter, a bit less popular, but there was no doubt he was essential to the group. Damage him enough and the band will be done. He was the easiest to get to anyways. Ralph knew he was being sadistic, but they were the image of Satan. Their rise to popularity was no fluke, it was the work of the Devil himself, and Ralph would be the one to stop that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: rape/non-con elements
> 
> (basically for some chapters past this one as well)

George looked at his reflection as he combed his hair in the mirror. He had tried to fix the scratch on his cheek the best he could. It just wasn’t going away, no matter how much cover-up he put on. He finally gave up, getting up and walking across the backstage room and moving next to John, who was going through the first song.

George just sat down in a heap. Reaching for a guitar, he pulled it up on his lap and went through the chords. He was going through ‘She’s A Woman,’ when he heard the door inch open. Brian entered the room, “Boys, have you seen Paul and Ringo anywhere?” John shook his head. “I’ll go find them,” George said, standing up from his seat and tossing the guitar across the couch.

He walked out of the room and onto the stage. He couldn’t see anyone, so he moved behind the stage. Looking down the small passage behind the stage, he saw Paul standing next to a girl. “Paul, Brian wants ye!” George called through the passage. He chuckled a bit as Paul emerged, red-faced and frustrated that he had just been interrupted.

The duo walked back to the room, opening the door and walking in. Ringo was already in there, sitting beside John on a double sofa. “Good, now that I’ve got the four of you with me, I’d just like to let you know that after the concert we have a press conference, as normal, and after that we’re heading to the next spot, so you’ll all have to be packed -” as Brian was speaking, the door creaked open and the new bodyguard walked in. George didn’t speak to him much that morning, he didn’t even really know his name. He was glad they had another bodyguard, but he wished John would just apologise for his comments. It would be so much easier.

“Paul and John, you two come with me.” Brian said as he walked off, the three shutting the door behind them as they left with Brian. “Ringo, the sound technicians want you on stage for sound checks.” Ringo nodded, getting up and leaving the room. George looked down and paid no attention, tuning his guitar until he heard the click of the lock and looked up. He looked around the room, he was the only one left, apart from the security guard who appeared to be now walking towards him with a knife.

“If you scream, I will attack you.” He said, simply, as if he weren’t walking towards him right now with a knife. His hands grabbed George’s collar and pinned him against the wall in one swift movement. Towering over him, the assailant looked as if he were 2 metres tall. He held the knife against George’s jaw. “Stop! What are you doing?! Please don’t!” George didn’t even know what was happening, but he wanted to get out. 

Still holding the knife against his face, the bodyguard undid his pants. George felt his face go pale in realisation. This couldn’t be happening. He wished someone would come right now and help him. He realised that he had a shot of freedom when the knife was lowered from his neck as the man struggled to get his pants undone. He pulled the man’s hand away from his neck, chucking away his knife. He ran the few short spaces between where he was and the door. He reached out, but didn’t even scrape the brass lock before being violently tugged back and thrown on the floor.

“Brave, aren’t you?” The bodyguard sighed. He flipped him over on the ground and brought the knife up, “This’ll learn ya. This is for the whole band of you. Satanists you are,” He pulled off George’s suit and wrestled to undo his shirt before bringing the knife to his shoulder blade and cutting a small line in his back. George screamed, but his shouts were muffled by the cloth the man was holding to his mouth.

The man stood up, and began to kick George in the ribs, harder with each time. George felt tears fall down his face. He was pathetic, just sitting there and taking the blows. He hoped the concert would start soon, that someone would come knock on the door. He wished he were free.

The man pulled George upright against the wall. “Now, you’re going to take this without screaming, or the world will know what I’m about to do, and they’ll hate you forever for it.” George’s heart sped up as his head pounded in fright and pain.

A hand to his buckle, George could see the adrenaline coursing through the other man’s hands, shaking and fumbling with his belt. He grabbed George’s hair from the back of his head and forced him up to his exposed groin. George shook his head, and the man kicked him in the stomach, causing him to double over. He lowered his head to George’s ear, whispering, “Bite and I’ll shove this knife through your heart.” George shook at the threat.

George reluctantly complied. He just wanted to get out of there. The man pressed the knife back to his neck. He was only praying that somebody would come, knock on the door and call him out. The man finally released himself, pushing George’s weak body back to the floor as he walked to the other side of the room and tidied himself up, before walking out of the door. “George, tell anyone and the Beatles are over. They’ll hate you. I promise,”

He finally stood up, pulling back on his shirt and suit, taking time to consider everything that had just happened. He was confused. What was he going to do now? What could he do? Suddenly he felt his throat convulse, and he sprinted out of the room and into the shabby little concert hall bathrooms, and retched his stomach contents into the toilet bowl. He kept retching, not caring how loud he was.

He felt the door hit against his shoe as it swung open, “George? What the hell?” He didn’t even need to look back, knowing it was John. “Brian’s been looking for you all over.” he turned the corner and shouted into the space, “Brian! I found George.” The loud calls rung in George’s ears, as he fell back against the wall, finished with throwing up.

“Paul, come see this,” John called out as Paul walked up to the bathroom, looking at George, ‘What in hell’s the matter with you?” Paul asked as he picked George up by his arms and took him to the sink. George winced as his torso burnt with the sudden movement, but nobody noticed. Paul got a comb and was smoothing out his ruffled up hair. He washed his face with the shabby concert hall bathroom towel. 

Brian entered the room to see Paul trying and failing to clean George up. John told him what he saw. “Hey George, are you still okay to go on?” George had forgotten about the concert in the mad rush. He really didn’t want to go on, didn’t know if he could. He looked over at Paul and John, Paul with a face full of concern and John looking annoyed. It was clear they thought of him as a child. Not wanting to be any more of a burden, George nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I’ll do it.” His voice was scratchy, and he didn’t know how his singing would be, but it wasn’t like the audience could hear them anyways.

“Alright then,” Brian’s voice was full of sympathy. George went to push the sweaty fringe out of his eyes, his hands shaking violently. All three men looked at him. ‘What’s wrong George?” George just shrugged, “Don’t know,” “Well something’s happened, otherwise you wouldn’t be throwing up and shaking.” John’s irritated voice cut through the air. “We’ll have a talk after the show. Are you sure you’re alright George?” Brian asked once more. George simply nodded and walked out of the room and towards the stage.

It kept replaying in his mind. He was angry at himself for not fighting back more. He was weak. He was angry at the bodyguard. Why was he being punished? What had he done wrong? He decided that he wouldn’t tell his friends. He already hated himself enough for giving in. It would make sense if they hated him more. If word ever got out, it’d ruin the beatles. He’d seen how angry the people got after a harmless comment, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see how angry they’d be if they found out one of the Beatles did what he did. 

He picked up his guitar stand by the stage and went and sat on an amplifier to tune it. He strummed a few notes. His brain felt like it had a pulse. He leaned his head back on the wall next to him. He looked out at the stage and the curtains. He had never felt so alone.


	5. Chapter 5

The buzz before a concert was what he lived for. The excitement coursing through his veins as he hears the cheers and chants. This time it was different. His last concert in Memphis, he didn’t think he ever wanted to come back. It was pretty rowdy and everyone seemed to hate them. Or more specifically, him.

John began the first chord after the intro and stepped up to start singing. The concert started swiftly and smoothly. It would only be a short while before they finished. John really wanted this concert over. He was tired of watching their LPs being nailed to crosses, fires and death threats. It was like they had spent a day in hell. They were set to leave that night. Originally, it was going to be the next day, but Brian thought to cut it short.

It was a bit of a shock to John to find George hunched over a toilet and vomiting ten minutes before the show. It had happened to them all before, nervous sickness, and he had reason to be nervous. Even John was scared one of them would be shot. He hoped it would be him, if it came down to that. He wouldn’t live with himself if one of the others got killed because of his pride and refusal to apologise. His train of thought had him scanning the rows for anyone with a gun. He really just wanted to get out of here.

As George’s scratchy voice began ‘If I Needed Someone’, John began to take more notice of him. The poor lad was obviously not doing alright. He was sweating bullets and made mistakes left, right and center. He began to notice Paul watching him with concern as well. Another slip up in George’s guitar riff caught John’s attention and snapped him out of his pity. He suddenly began to feel annoyed at the boy. They were all as tired as he was. None of them were making mistakes like that. John just put it down to his age. Still weak, he supposed.   
  


He drew his hands across the strings, and the last call of his guitar rang through the amplifiers. He bent over for the bow and got off stage as quickly as possible. He handed his guitar to somebody before walking towards Brian, who had a concerned face on. “What’s gotten you worried, Eppy?” John inquired, good-naturedly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with George.” Brian spoke solemnly.

John faced the stage, as the others joined the group. “The bus is waiting outside,” Brian said, pointing towards an exit. The boys opened the door and rushed out. It was straight after the concert, and the crowds were smaller because the majority of the people hadn’t yet left the hall. Still, there were groups trying to get to them, and the four clambered in the bus to safety. John rested his head against the bar, then looking back around the bus at his bandmates. Ringo was leaning against a window, Paul was lying across seats and George was sitting upright, his hands trembling and eyes wide and blank.

They finally arrived at the next building. The press conference was tiring. John couldn’t wait for it to end. The same old questions all the time. If he was asked one more time about his Jesus comment, he was seriously going to murder somebody. The boys took it in turns to stare directly at Brian to try and get him to wrap it up. It was so frustrating when he didn’t get the hint. An extremely silly question, directed at him, earned it’s own fabulously witty and sarcastic remark, which, while on the rude side, managed to shut down the reporter. He looked over at Brian, who was looking at him the way a parent would to their disobedient child. John, elated to have caught his attention, made it clear he was finished. He began to stand as he saw Brian walk across the front, closing up the interview. John rushed off, followed by the others, glad that his brilliant scheme had paid off

They got up into the hotel rooms as quickly as possible. They all wanted to be out of there. Having largely gathered their items that morning, John and George were sitting by the TV and relaxing before they got on the bus and left for the next city. John looked over at George, who was sitting on a bed, his hands once again shaking and his eyes distant and staring straight ahead. “What’s got you like this Geo?” John’s voice called. George snapped out of his daze nervously, “Nothing,” His voice whispered so quietly John thought he’d imagined it. “Stop saying nothing Geo. I saw you during the concert. Something’s up,” John said, his voice full of conviction, a tone of anger. Either George didn’t hear John’s speech or he dismissed it, because there was no answer. “That’s it. Did you hear how many mistakes you made during the concert? And I suppose you just forgot about your episode before the -” John’s lecture was interrupted by the door opening. Mal walked in, “Lads, the bus is here, are you two ready to go?” both stood up and lifted their things, walking towards the door “Look George, one more thing happens and the four of us plus Eppy will be having a long conversation,” John said firmly as he walked out into the corridor.

The bus ride was a long one through the night. Brian had originally hired the day bus, and so they all had to lay across seats. It was so uncomfortable, but John was so exhausted that he fell asleep anyway. Finally drifting off to sleep, it seemed like only a moment until he was woken up again by hushed voices. He sat up and looked over into the next row, where Paul was fast asleep. He looked over to George's row, where Ringo was standing with Brian. “George, son, you’ve got to sleep,” he heard a voice say. John sighed,  _ not this again,  _ he stood up, George was staring straight ahead, his eyes cold and scared. “George, what’s the matter. Are you ill?” Ringo picked up his hand, which George shot back to his side, “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” He said, annoyed. As if he had any right to be annoyed?  _ Disrupting my sleep, acting up during the concert, vomiting all over the place. He should be thanking heavens he wasn’t kicked out of the group!  _ John’s internal monologue was erupting at him, but he didn’t translate it to words. The bus was largely asleep, and he was too tired for this. He lay back down across his seats. Now that he had calmed down, worry seemed to fill the space anger held in his mind, and he began to worry for George. What if he really was ill? He’d speak to Eppy about getting a doctor in the morning. Putting his head back against the seat, the rhythmic buzz on the bus seats lulled John back to sleep.

Waking up early, the group got into the hotel with relatively no fuss. The atmosphere was calmer and John could feel the different energy in the air. He let go of all the stress he didn’t even know was there. “Two rooms, you lot figure out who’s bunking with who,” Brian threw the keys at John. He normally liked it when John and Paul weren’t sleeping in the same room, “even out the group,” he normally said. He chucked a key at Paul, “Same?” John asked. Everybody nodded, and John started walking towards the entrance, the other three following him. 

They reached the room, John chucking all his stuff on the bed. “‘M gonna go hang out with Paul, you can come if ya want George,” John announced as he walked towards the door. When George didn’t get up off the bed, he closed the door and left. He left the key in the room, afraid he’d lose it. He kept the door unlocked in case he needed to come back, and walked up to the next room.


	6. Chapter 6

He fell on his bed the moment they entered the room. He hadn’t slept at all the last night on the bus. Every time he closed his eyes, he recounted everything that happened. It made him feel so alone, sitting there in the dark, unable to sleep.

George was beginning to get annoyed with everybody. If he said he was fine, why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He was glad they cared, at least, but he just wanted to be alone, away from the questions and odd looks, so he didn’t follow John out of the door.

He tried to fall asleep. He couldn’t though, and so he sat up and switched on the television. George leant against the window and closed his eyes, but was startled when the door suddenly swung open. John rushed into the room, grabbing a sweater and a pillow. “You’re still welcome to come if you want,” John called out before closing the door behind him.

It was clear that he just wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He wasn’t hungry, but he figured that eating would kill time. He lifted himself out of the seat and put on a coat. He had his shades on, and hoped nobody would recognise him. 

He stepped out into the corridor, and had only taken a few steps when he looked back and realised he should probably tell Eppy he was going out. He walked back up the corridor to Brian’s room. Knocking on the door, Mal opened it. “Hey George,” George grinned and walked in. Brian was reading the newspaper in his suite table while three security guards sat in chairs having a conversation. George nearly threw up at the sight of the familiar face whose name he had yet to learn. “Hi George, is everything okay?” Brian spoke in his fatherly tone. “Yeah, I… I -” George stuttered as he thought through what he was going to say. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to cry, “Nevermind, s’alright,” He couldn’t think of anything. He didn’t feel like going out anymore, “Did you lose the key?” Brian asked, face confused, making guesses at what George is finding so hard to say. “No, I think John has it,” George said, leaving the room. He was about to cry, and he wanted to be alone. He needed to get out of there.

He fell back on his bed, tears falling down his face. He didn’t know what to do. He decided he’d have a shower. He stood up, and opened his bag to look for some clothes he could wear. As he reached for his suitcase, the door swung open. George quickly dried his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper, readying himself to have a long conversation with Brian. He looked towards the door, but was instead confronted with the face of his terror.

“Hi George,” the voice said, his southern accent strong. He flicked the switch on the lock to keep it locked when the door closed. George’s heart sped up again. This couldn’t be happening, not again. George tried to tell him to go away, but his voice caught in his throat. He was stunned. This was no longer just a nightmare. This was beginning to become real life. The man pulled out the same knife, pushing George on the bed and pinning him down. “If you stop struggling, this’ll be nice and quick,” His voice sounded smooth, making George want to vomit. George felt the cold air hit his back as the man lifted his shirt up, “The bruises are coming up nicely,” He chuckled. He began to pull George’s trousers down. He struggled the best he could, but the other man was so strong, and it only ever resulted in a knee to the side.

He felt a hand almost crush his windpipe, and he struggled to breathe. His boxer pants were pulled down, exposing his whole body. He kicked his legs to try and free himself once more, but stopped when he felt his back nearly shatter after being punched. 

It felt like he was being ripped apart. Quite literally. Tears fell down his face as he tried to breathe. His face was being shoved into the bed as the man tore deeper and deeper into him. He thought he would surely die.

He blacked out momentarily, his vision going completely dark, it all being too much, only to awaken again in the same terror. The man was whispering obscenities in his ear. He tried to tune them out, but he could feel his appalling and filthy hot breath against his ear. 

It felt like an eternity before it stopped. He finally exhausted, pulling out and away from George. “Our secret.” He whispered at him before tidying himself up and leaving. George sat there in absolute shock. He couldn’t believe it had happened again. He looked down at himself. He was positively filthy. His bedsheets were even worse, stained with blood and god knows what else.

He couldn’t stand up, his legs were sore and his knees were weak. He knew he needed to fix this before John got back. God, would he be in for it if he didn’t. He pulled his clothes back on with trembling hands and held the phone receiver up to his face. His voice was shaky and coarse as he asked for a new quilt, and even the head of housekeeping asked if he was alright from the other side of the line. He shakily made his way to the bathroom sink, pulling up the quilt and trying to wash some of the stains out. He looked at himself in the mirror. What a mess he looked, his hair was sticking out in every direction, his neck had a slight bruise across it and he looked like a corpse. He tried to clean himself up, but nothing would fix it.

He sat back down on the bed, tears rolling down his face. His violated body ached. He didn’t know what he could do now. A ring at the door brought him out of his depressive thoughts. A woman was standing there with a trolley, and George brought his soiled quilt and was given a new one. 

He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to have a shower. He took off all of his clothes and saw his bruised and battered naked body in the mirror. He suddenly felt dizzy and disorientated at the sight, holding onto the countertop for balance. Turning on the shower heads, he stepped into the shower. 

He thoroughly washed himself. Although it hurt, he wanted every trace of that man gone from him. Eventually, he stepped out of the shower. Hearing impatient and violent thuds on the door, George dressed himself in new clothes and looked through the peephole. He’d make a habit of that now.

John stood there, angry and annoyed. George took a deep breath before opening the door and coming face to face with John’s huge and fuming figure. John pushed George backwards, nearly causing him to yelp in pain. “Last time I’m leaving you with the keys! Why was the bloody door locked? Were you getting off?” George shook his head, “Sorry, I was in the shower.” Hee answered. His voice sounded worse than before, and George cringed. John must’ve picked up on it too, “What’s been wrong with you lately?” He asked, almost accusingly. George looked at him pointedly. He really didn’t want this conversation, and he didn’t want anything to slip out. “I’m fine. Nothing. Is. Wrong.” George almost felt like yelling, but he didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll just go to the bathroom,” John's nasally accent spoke. George jumped as he remembered the clothes he had left on the floor. If John found those, he’d be the one nailed to a cross and burnt. His legs burnt as he raced into the bathroom, grabbing his clothes. He saw the red and white stains all over his boxers as he grabbed them. His mind recalled the past hour, the feeling of the man's huge calloused hands on his hips and the pure horror of being ripped apart. He remembers the warm fingers squeezing his neck, and the shorts breaths that weren't enough. The other man's body hitting his as he- George's mind cut him off as he suddenly felt the same feeling deep in his gut. He opened up the toilet bowl and began to vomit again. John raced in, “George! Are you kidding?!” John ran out of the bathroom. George felt himself rise and fall with each retch. His stomach and throat were raw. 

John rushed back in but with Brian this time, “Do you see what I mean? We’ve got to take him to a doctor,” John’s voice shouted. George shook his head violently, "No. No doctor." he spoke in between heaves. Brian calm, “Here, George,” He lifted George’s weak body up, “Let me take that for you,” as he reached for the clothes. George shook his head violently, “No. Stop! I’m fine!” He shouted. “All right, all right, calm down. Are you going to tell us what’s happening now?” George simply shook his head again. “Geo, it’s the only way we can help you.” Brian said quietly. George looked up in fright at the loud crash sound that came from behind him. John, who had just pounded his fist on a bedside table looked at him, “Damn it Geo! You’re going to kill yourself this way. Just tell us, we won’t do anything to you.” 

George sighed, if only that were true. It was so easy for him to say that.

He looked again at the beds. He could almost see himself being assaulted. “Can we swap beds John?” George’s voice was soft and quiet. “Why? What happened to it?” John asked. George was still staring intently at the bed. Brian gave him a pleading look. “Okay sure, whatever.” He said, before standing up again and leaving the room. 

Brian gave George a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll talk some more later,” He said. George scoffed at that. As if they talked any now. He didn’t want to do this anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

He enjoyed nothing more after a long and stressful night than unwinding and writing songs with John, so he was a bit frustrated when they had been in the middle of a song, and John left the room. He had only gone to the next room to get another pillow to lean on, but he hadn’t come back for fifteen minutes, which, while being a fairly short amount of time, had disrupted the train of thought. 

Paul lay back on his bed, looking out the window. A pleasant view out the window, he could see houses and parks and a strip of shops. He had a sudden urge to go explore, but he knew they had to get ready for the show soon, and Brian would never allow it, not somewhere as dangerous for them as here. 

Brian had given them a lecture right before they left about the American tour. They’d been here before, but this time it was different. He’d warned them about kidnappings, all that type of stuff. There was absolutely no chance Brian would let Paul out by himself.

Eventually John came back. “What took you so long then?” Paul’s voice called. John shook his head, “George again. He’s not well. I’m telling Brian to get a doctor so we can figure out what’s wrong with him, but George throws a tantrum every time I mention it.” Paul figured if he was well enough to throw a tantrum he was well enough to play. 

The door opened. Paul and John were too immersed in their new chorus to look up. Paul only paid attention when he heard Ringo’s thick voice greet George. George crept into the room and sat next to Ringo. He was looking rough, and looked like he had been crying. Paul pretended not to notice his presence in order to save the young lad the embarrassment.

The four of them lay around Paul and Ringo’s room in relative silence, the only sounds coming from Paul and John’s newly forming song. That was until Mal entered the room, flanked by two other security guards. “Right boys, you’ve all got thirty minutes to get changed. These lads will escort you to the bus and we’ll be on our way to the concert.” The band all nodded, “First time I’ve heard silence out of you lot,” Mal half-chuckled. Paul didn’t know why they were like this. It was like they were all half asleep. He supposed they were. “How are you all feeling?” Mal asked, a final attempt to lighten the mood. The combined answers were offered in an indecipherable affirmative noise. 

They arrived at the concert hall, groomed and suited up. They were running through various sound checks. Paul tuned his bass, running through the numbers. He had them written on the neck of the instrument, just in case he forgot, but he never had to look at them. He had gone through the same show so many times that he felt he could have his brain removed and play it through muscle memory alone.

The concert started smoothly, or at least more smoothly than recent concerts had. The vocals were going incredibly well, John and Paul hitting each and every note perfectly, inspired by their most recent songwriting session. Ringo was hitting every beat, the drumline was impeccable. Paul made a mental note to perhaps experiment with drum solos in the next pieces.

George, however, was another story. His guitar solos missed beats and notes, and he was playing sloppily. It was the first time Paul was thankful for the volume of the crowd. It drowned out most of the bad playing the best it could. The mediocre guitar riffing was forgivable until halfway through ‘If I Needed Someone’. George just stopped singing. His mouth stopped moving, and Paul could see the shock written on his expression. The music kept playing and George just stood there like an idiot. He picked it back up again in the second chorus, but the damage had been done. The crowd saw his mouth stop moving, and could tell there was something up. Boy, had George done it now. The newspapers would have an absolute field day with this one. 

They finally got off stage. Paul was fuming. How could he mess up like this? They’d done it a million times before. As they all grouped around Brian, Paul tried his best to stay quiet. He could almost feel the fire inside his heart, about to rip its way out. He kept it contained the best he could. 

Fighting to get into the bus only fueled Paul’s anger. As soon as they were all on the bus, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore, “What the absolute hell George!?!” He yelled. Everyone looked towards him. “Now, Paul -” Ringo tried to stop him, but Paul was not having it. He looked over at John, who was staring at George now as well. He looked at George, who looked small and as if he wanted to shrink into the seat. Something in his head told him to take it easy, but he ignored it.

“What was that all about? Huh? Stuffing up our show?! Do you think it’s a joke?” Paul’s words were fuelled by anger, his last words having a tinge of cruelty. Ringo stood up from his seat, “Come off it Paul.” His voice was sturdy and rigid, even a bit threatening. “What are you going to do? Embarrass me? He’s already done that.” Paul directed his harness towards Ringo as well. He pointed an accusatory finger at George, who looked like he was about to throw up. Paul would have felt sorry for him, but was so angry that he just didn’t care. 

They went back to the hotel. Paul felt bad about his outburst on the bus, taking the time to cool off and realise how cruel he had just been. He felt sorry, but his pride wouldn’t let him apologise, and so he just took himself up to his room and got changed out of his concert clothes. 

“You were a bit harsh on George, Paul. It’s not the end of the world.” Ringo’s irritatingly calm voice called out to him. “He stuffed up. If he’s so sick, he needs to get a doctor. If he isn’t sick, then he can’t bloody make those mistakes.” Paul could hear himself, knew he was clearly being overly critical, but he didn’t care anymore. Ringo just sighed and left it at that. There was no winning when Paul was in this state.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short sry

The adrenaline rush he had gotten the first time was unbelievable. It was like a drug. Nobody knew, as far as he was aware, nobody was suspicious, and he knew George would stay quiet.

He had known he had picked the right target right from the start. George had been weak and unable to fight back. He was already picked on in the group, that much was obvious, and Ralph knew he would be too afraid to expose what Ralph was doing.

Ralph could already see the effects of his plan. George was shaky all the time, messing up guitar solos and songs. He was on the bus the other day, watching Paul erupt at George. If he could keep this up, it could very well be the end of the band. 

His mind was largely focused on his plan. The closer he got to the Beatles, the more he hated them. It was almost like he couldn’t bear to see people love them. He needed them gone, and gone now.

The hardest part was trying to find a space where George was alone. He’d only had two successful moments, the first he didn’t do much, just beat him up really. It’d been before a concert, and George was just sitting in the backstage room alone. The second had been in the hotel room. Daring, he knew, but almost destined to succeed. He’d been particularly smart about that, sitting in Brian’s room when George had mentioned that he was sharing a room with John. Ralph knew Paul and John would be songwriting away for hours. He gave it a go, pleasantly surprised when the door was open and the key was inside. The look of horror on George’s face was definitely worth it. He’d done the real stuff, then. He’d left the quilt with blood and semen, and George laying on the bed. 

He could see the looks of concern on the others’ faces when George's health started declining. This was the only problem. They’d start getting suspicious, maybe even take him to the hospital. They were a tight-knit group. Ralph had thought that was something the press invented, a look they went for to make them more appealing. But there was no denying that they were really all like brothers. It would take a lot of work to unravel the group.

But he had a plan.


	9. Chapter 9

The tour was nearly over. God blessed him, the tour was nearly over. One more night and they’d all be home. Brian was thankful he’d be able to return back home to England with all four Beatles still alive. He was anxious for their safety, having to deal with death threats and hate mail. One night, he hadn’t slept a wink after reading a message from some member of the ku klux klan or some other radical church group giving intricate and lewd details of what they’d do to each Beatle before killing them. That morning he’d made sure to brief the boys on the dangers of kidnapping. Especially with their annoying habit of sneaking out on their own.

Of course, the tour had included its fair share of problems, such as Paul’s migraines, John’s anger management issues and whatever George had. He had tried to get a doctor in to see George, the poor lad was shaking and throwing up all the time, but he had just yelled to leave him alone. Brian thought he might just wait until they were back in England to get him checked out anyways.

He could feel the tension in the group rise to an all-new level. Towards the end of each tour, they confined spaces and lack of privacy often led to more arguments and fights, but this time it was different. He had never seen them so on edge. Just the other day he’d seen Paul and John nearly get into fisticuffs over a chord progression, or Paul screaming at George over a concert slip-up. They seriously were like children. But they were his children, and as much as he wanted to kill them, he did love them.

He was glad he’d been able to get another bodyguard at such short notice. It was only a small addition but it made it easier to get places and put less stress on himself and the boys. He’d been speaking to Mal earlier, who’d told him about Ralph offering to come back with them, to run errands with Mal and act as a security guard for other tours. Brian had left the call up to Mal, who’d agreed. He was glad to have another security guard if Mal needed him, but sighed as he realised he’d have to organise for Ralph to come work in England.

He checked in on all the boys, checking to see if they were packed and ready to leave. They had one more concert tomorrow before they flew back out, but their bags had to be loaded onto the tour bus in the morning. “Lads, listen, I know you’re tired, but we’ve got one more night and then we’re out of here. You’re all packed?” He scanned the room, receiving nods from Paul, John and Ringo. “George, you’re packed?” George simply lifted his head, which Brian took as a yes, but he wasn’t completely sure. “Alright then. Goodnight boys,” he said as he left the room.

He slipped into his pyjamas. It wasn’t late yet, but he was absolutely exhausted. He lay down on the covers.

He woke up the next morning with an alarm clock by his bed. He switched it off and made his way to the boys’ rooms. “Boys! Get up! We’ve got to go now.” They had a press conference before the concert today. Brian went back into his room to slip on a suit. He knocked on Mal’s door. Mal, who was already awake, opened the door, “Could you make sure your team is ready to leave?” Brian asked. Mal tiredly nodded his head. 

Three of the four boys were standing outside their door sleepily with their bags. Paul was mainly awake but Ringo and George could barely keep their eyes open. “Lennon!” Brian called, “Hurry up!” When he got no response, he walked into the room. John was still asleep. Shaking him gently, he heard a whisper, “Give it a break, Eppy,” John rose out of the covers and moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth. That boy was so bloody difficult.

They made their way to the bus, loading all their bags. A quick drive to the press conference and they all got off the bus. The boys stood behind the walls for a bit as the reporters were seated. The boys filed into their respective positions and began to answer questions. Most of the questions were aimed at John and Paul. 

He always felt awful, the pleading looks from the band to stop the interview. Usually they lasted at least ten minutes before tiring, but it was only five minutes in and he was beginning to get signs that the lads wanted out. He could see John and Ringo most clearly. John looked like he was about to fall asleep. He could see half of Paul’s face. The poor lad had to answer most of the questions, because John sure as hell wasn’t going to. He couldn’t see much of George, only the side of his face. 

He scanned over the crowd, the same group of annoying reporters. Brian had to deal with the press a lot. He didn’t like them much. 

He was caught by surprise when he turned back to the group and saw George’s face turned and staring him straight-on. He'd felt sorry for him after he copped another question about his careless guitar playing of late. The boy was pale and shaky. It would be painfully obvious to the press that George was trying to get out. He’d get a bad rap for this in tomorrow’s news, giving them more reason to think him rude and antisocial. Brian did wish he would be a bit more subtle, but he knew it must be urgent, and so, only ten minutes into the conference, he walked out in front of everyone and excused the lads from their seats.

“Brian!” He heard shouts coming from the bathroom of the building. He walked back over, not entirely surprised to see George once again hunched over the toilet basin. Paul was standing there, looking a bit fed-up. “Surely you’ll cancel the concert?” Paul asked Brian, but before he could respond, George shook his head, “No, I’m fine, s’just something I ate, I’ll be okay.” Brian wasn’t about to argue with George, and he didn’t really want to cancel the concert, but he would make sure he’d keep a close eye on the kid.

Brain managed to finally get all the boys on the bus. They had two hours before their last concert. He just couldn't wait to be home.


	10. Chapter 10

God, was he glad to be going home. What a tour that had been. It started off perfectly fine, with the exception of Paul’s headaches, and just progressed into the depths of hell, it seemed. Ringo followed George and John onto the plane and into their row of four. They had any choice of where to sit on the plane, but they always chose to sit together. Ringo thought it was nice, but he really did think it might be nicer to have two seats to lie down on. It didn’t matter what he thought anyways, the calls were always up to John and Paul.

George had been even sicker lately. Sometimes he seemed ok, but he’d see or hear something, or someone would say something, and he’d start shaking. He was throwing up an awful lot now. He was always pale, and nervous, hands cold and clammy. Something wasn’t right. He spoke to Brian about it, worried for his friend, but Brian had just told him that it was just the stress. Ringo guessed he was probably right. George had told him earlier about how scared he was of being shot, and if they were going to be shot, chances are it would be here.

He’d been sitting on the plane for a few hours now, apparently. He’d fallen asleep, like he always did on planes. He looked across the row, Paul and John were leaning on each other, sleeping. George had his eyes open, staring at the next seat. “Geo? Are you right, son?” the other boy looked to him in relative surprise, “Yeah, just can’t sleep on planes,” Ringo nodded, leaning back against the chair. He suspected there was more to it, but he wasn’t about to launch himself into the hellfire there would be if he woke John or Paul up. 

They got off the plane, grabbing their suitcases and meeting back up with Brian. “Now, boys, take care of yourselves and I’ll see you again in a week,” Dismissed like school children, the four of them headed over to the taxi cab rank. Ringo was glad there were no crowds. Nobody was expecting them to be arriving at two in the morning. They were supposed to stay the night in the US, arriving in the UK by late afternoon, but Brian had wanted to avoid the crowds, getting them out of there as soon as the concert finished. John, of course, got into the first taxi, Paul claiming the second one. Ringo jumped in with Paul, he could walk home from Paul’s. The ride was pretty much silent, Paul fell asleep against his shoulder. Ringo only stayed awake to watch the trees and buildings that flew past his window. No crowds were following them. It was too early in the morning for that. Everything was silent and peaceful, for the first time in what felt like ages.

Two days had passed since coming home. Ringo had taken two days to recover, doing absolutely nothing but watching TV and sleeping. But today he knew he had to go do something. He had decided on going to see George, see if he was better, because if he had a disease and not stress, there could be some problems. He thought he’d organise going out with just the four of them.

He phoned Paul to see if he wanted to come, which he agreed to, having nothing better to do. He’d called John as well, but John didn’t pick up. He walked up to Paul’s house, greeting him at the door. They drove in Paul's car all the way to George’s. Ringo had brought along the set of spare keys George had given Ringo. He knocked on the door first. “You’ve got keys, Ritchie, just opened the damned door,” Paul cussed. “Manners, Paulie,” He said as he rapped on the door another time. “Are you kidding? It’s George, he won’t care,” he said as he ripped the keys out of Ringo’s hand and unlocked the door himself. Ringo just shrugged, no point in arguing. Paul started walking further into the house, calling for George. Ringo closed the door, “What if he’s not home?” He asked. “Nah, ‘he's probably jus’ hiding,” Paul chuckled.

The duo walked upstairs, Ringo walked into the bathroom, before hearing Paul call “Ringo! he’s here,” Ringo walked into the bedroom, where George was lying against the wall. He had tears running down his face, and he was shaking again. “Geo? What is the matter?” Paul asked harshly. Ringo went to grab the boy's arm, but George yelled and pulled away. “God, s’okay Geo, we’re only here to help.” George’s breathing only increased.

Ringo just sat beside George, not knowing what to do, Paul just stood there in anger, and Ringo was only thankful Paul didn’t bash George out of his panicked state.

“I’m sorry,” Ringo heard a whisper. George lifted himself up off of the floor and put out a hand for Ringo. “What in the hell happened, lad.” Paul asked, sounding more concerned than angry now. George just shook his head, “nothing.” Ringo shot Paul a look before he could respond. “Right lad, we’re going out to have lunch.” 

The three of them went to the nearest Italian restaurant, sitting down at a table. It was a restaurant nobody expected to see the Beatles in. Nobody looks for things that they don’t expect to see. They spoke a bit before ordering. “Where’s John?” Paul asked. “I don’t know, he didn’t answer the phone, bloody sod’s trying to get away from us,” Ringo answered. “Well, that’s just not on. Let’s pay him a visit afterwards, shall we?” Ringo agreed.

Ringo paid for lunch and they all headed out the door. George had only eaten a tiny bit of his lunch, odd behaviour for somebody so obsessed with food, but he decided to keep quiet. He knew Paul'd give him hell if he noticed.

They all got in Paul’s car, racing up the stairs to John’s. Paul nearly punched a hole through the door when a dishevelled and angry looking Cynthia opened it. Ringo could hear Julian crying in another room. “Can I help you?” She asked. Paul looked at Ringo to speak. Typical. “Sorry about that, is John in?” “No, he’s at a bar down the road. He’s a bit angry at the moment,” She warned, “Ok, nice to see you, thanks,” Ringo said as she closed the door. 

“And you just left it to me, huh?” Ringo was a little bit angry at Paul’s silence, seeing as he was the one who probably woke Jules up. “Which pub do you reckon it is?” George asked. “Probably that one,” Paul pointed to a small bar, “We go there all the time,” Ringo felt a little bit sorry for George at that. He knew he got down about being left out by Paul and John. Ringo guessed it was his fault, if he hadn’t joined the band, they probably would include George a bit more. Three’s easier than four.

They went in, and found John sitting three along at the bench. “What are you lads doing here?” John faked anger but he was smiling. The quartet hung out, drank a bit. Paul, John and George all drank more than he did. He knew he’d probably have to drive Paul and George home anyways. 

John eventually got tired, but invited Paul over for songwriting. He looked over at George to see if he could spot any visible sadness on his face, but George was smiling drunkenly. Ringo called out to him, “Okay, I’ll call a cab home with George then, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use Paul’s car. He only got a nod from Paul as he took George out of the building and tried to hail a cab. George smelt strongly of alcohol, and Ringo had noticed he’d been drinking a bot. He didn’t think he’d ever seen George this drunk, with the exception of one or two nights in the Cavern, before he really knew George. 

They finally arrived at George’s doorstep, Ringo opened up the house for George, taking him up to his bed. “Where’s Pattie, George?” Ringo asked. “She’s away,” George slurred back. He took George up to his bed, put him down. He decided he’d stay the night, make sure everything was okay with George, who seemed to be even drunker than Ringo had first observed. He also couldn't be bothered going back home. He turned the light off and started walking downstairs. He heard, rather loudly, George call out to him, "Ringo! Wait!" Ringo rushed back up the stairs, not sure what to expect. "I just wanted to say-" He hiccuped, “I had a great time”

Ringo chuckled, "Me too," as he turned back around to go downstairs


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I literally read and re-read this chapter and I'd really love any feedback or ideas
> 
> Thanks so much for reading xx

He was all too glad to be back. The last part of the tour had been hell. He nearly cried just thinking about it. His back stung, his ribs hurt and he was bleeding all over. And it never stopped. Every time he was alone, he was weak. The man could do what he wanted to, because George was a coward. He had found out from John’s conversation with Mal that the man, named Ralph, would be staying on board the team. George didn’t cry at that. He couldn’t. His heart fell low in his stomach, his thoughts going numb and his hands started to shake slightly, as he realised it would never end. 

They left him alone waiting for a cab. John took the first, Ringo and Paul sharing. He hadn’t even thought about it until he’d found himself alone, waiting for a taxi in the early hours of the morning. 

The security guards were supposed to have left through another exit, taking all the equipment with the roadies. Evidently not, because he felt a hand hold over his mouth as he was pulled behind a wall.

The man really was bold to have done it there. The man did the same thing as he had done in the hotel room, leaving George bleeding and crying on the pavement of the airport exit at two in the morning.

When George got home that evening, he sat with his back against a wall and sobbed until he was too exhausted to stay awake. He didn’t know what to do.

George felt awful. Everybody was concerned about him. They all thought he was sick with something. He guessed in a way, he kind of was. But it was nothing a doctor could fix. He was afraid of going to the doctors, afraid of them seeing the cuts along his back or evidence of abuse. He wanted the nightmare to be over, but there wasn’t a way of ending it without ruining his life even more.

Everything set off a trigger. The memories kept coming back, even when they weren’t prompted, and sometimes he would get the shakes or need to vomit. He couldn’t be around his friends, they would worry. He also couldn’t be alone, he’d be vulnerable. His life had turned to torment. He couldn’t do anything anymore. He was never happy.

He had been frightened when, two days later, he heard sounds at the door. He hadn’t been expecting to hear the loud knocks, and his mind set to panic. He went numb as he began to hyperventilate. The sounds in his ears became duller as he panicked. He couldn’t hear who the person on the outside of his house was. All he knew was there was somebody coming for him.

So he was embarrassed when Paul walked into his bedroom, seeing him red-faced and shaky. Both Ringo and Paul looked worried and a bit frightened. Ringo had helped him off the ground. 

He didn’t know if he could handle it, spending the day with the lads, but he found he enjoyed it. It had been different to the time spent sitting at home, crying and sleeping. He had laughed, even. He was able to push the bad thoughts back. The thoughts weren’t gone, they’d never go , but for just a slight moment he was able to be himself again. 

He figured he was drinking a bit much when he was trying to conjure a sentence, but his brain kept wavering. The drinks made George feel warm and lighter, better than he had felt in quite a while, and he just needed more. He didn’t stop drinking that entire night.

They got back to recording the following week, George beginning to feel better. At nights he always felt scared. He had anxiety attacks almost every day still, and he always seemed to be tired, but he wasn’t vomiting all the time. His body was beginning to repair itself. George thought it would be okay. He’d never be the same, but he could still live.

They were rehearsing a song in the studio, halfway through George’s riff in the background. George looked across the screen door of the recording booth, and saw George Martin walking in with Mal and Ralph. George stiffened up. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Ralph as he shakily tried to continue his riff. He’d tried to forget about Ralph, he never could, but now the memories all came flushing back. The malicious face jogged more physical memories as his mind shut off from reality. 

“Oi, George?” John said, frustrated. George hadn’t noticed himself fall out of time,he was too busy trying not to vomit all over the floor. “Stop staring like a bloody queer and get back to playin’” That comment was enough to force the bile up George’s throat, and he pulled off his guitar and ran to the bathrooms to empty his stomach. 

The thought of being queer had entered his mind a few times. He didn’t think he was. He never felt that way about other men, but if he’d, well, ‘done it’ with another man, surely that made him queer. He had tried to forget about it, agreeing he wasn’t if he didn’t feel that way, but he was confused. Hearing someone else call him queer confused him even more. 

The door swung open, “C’mon Geo, thought we were passed all this throwin’ up,” He could hear Paul’s own tired voice ring through the bathrooms. “Give him a break.” Ringo’s heavy accent called, “Geo, what’s going on lad?” 

George stood up and brushed himself off. He didn’t want to go back out. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to run away and drown in the Thames. He wished he had just stayed in Liverpool, gotten a regular job, a bird he liked and lived a normal life, but he had to go prancing off with his band, and look what he got for it. He didn’t want to be a Beatle anymore.

“Finished crying?” John’s voice slyly spoke. If George wasn’t so tired, he’d try slamming John to the wall. His sly anger made George want to explode. But maybe he was right, George needed to toughen up. Maybe if he wasn’t so weak, he wouldn’t have been such an easy target.

He looked across the room where Brian and George Martin were approaching him. “Geo? You don’t look good. Are you ok?” Brian’s fatherly tone eased George. George only nodded, afraid he’d throw up if he spoke again. “Are you okay to keep playing?” He wasn’t okay to do anything. Not at all. But John would call him weak and Paul and Ritchie would think it, so he nodded and went back to his guitar.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the day. He wasn’t sure he’d ever want to again. There was nowhere he felt safe or happy. Nowhere he could be where there wasn’t a shadow. Life wasn’t the same. He knew it never would be again. 


	12. Chapter 12

It was good to be back recording. It was stressful, but John couldn’t describe how good it felt to be useful again. He knew things weren’t going well at home, he and Cynthia were growing apart. He knew he didn’t spend enough time with Julian. The recording studio was a break from his shattering life. It was therapeutic to sit with Paul for an hour or two and write a song, and then see the song brought to life in the studio. It gave him the power he needed to keep on going.

It was proving to be difficult, though. Just yesterday he had an argument over a chord sequence with Paul, who was beginning to get very domineering when it came to the recording of songs. Ringo, as normal, just sat there, playing his drums. John had hoped it was just the stress of touring that had made George all weird and shaky, but he hadn’t snapped out of it. He thought George had sorted himself out, he seemed normal when he saw him at the bar last week, but then again, the lad had been drunk out of his brains. He even seemed normal the first few days back, playing around with a guitar solo for one of John’s tracks.

It was only when they were rehearsing the early stages of a new song that John noticed the guitar riff fade. He looked across at George, who was just staring through the glass wall like an idiot. John’s frustration got the better of him, and he said something at George, and instead of continuing to play, George’s breathing quickened and he apologised and left the room.

He had felt pretty bad for making George feel whatever he felt, but it just seemed like he was being dramatic. Paul had told him off, saying what he said was “uncalled for”. Paul always acted like their bloody mum. John had gone off to see if George was alright later that day, but had left in frustration when he had refused to tell him. If he wasn’t going to bloody well spill, John wasn’t going to give him special treatment. 

He had been going to the bar after the studio sessions for a few nights now. He was never ready to face home straight afterwards. He often just sat there for a while, drinking. Washing his problems away with the bitter warmth of a beer, or something a bit stronger. 

Laying in bed one night, he couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, staring at the light that sat above them, focusing on his breathing. He found at night he was always a bit more sentimental. He thought of Paul. He was beginning to fight a bit more with him. John knew Paul was feeling stressed, trying to find a new direction for the band, working twice as hard for the sake of the other three, but John honestly just wanted the other Paul back. His Paul, the version that belonged to him.

And only God knew what was up with George.. He always stayed glued to someone, following somebody around, like he was afraid they would leave him. Just the other day, Paul and Ringo had gone into another room to go through the drum line, and George had followed John into the bathrooms and waited outside of the stalls while he did what he needed to. It was just like the old days, he was always being trailed. He was super sensitive now, acting like a bloody neurotic bird, constantly nervous now, always flinching at a pat on the back or twitching randomly

Maybe George was a queer. It made sense, he was probably nervous they wouldn’t like him anymore, even though he saw how they still liked Brian. It made even more sense that George got upset over John calling him a queer, why he never wanted to speak about his problems. Before John could analyse the situation any further, his mind locked down on an answer. George must like other men. He was eager to share his deductions with Paul, and he decided he’d had enough speculation for the night, turning over and shutting his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Ringo fell back onto the couch. God, was he tired. It had been a week back in the studio and he was already dying of exhaustion. He’d had to repeat the drumline to a song six times today just so Paul could figure out the chord progression of one line. Ringo had left the recording room in frustration, but Paul hadn’t noticed, still mumbling to himself. John had gone in a while ago to write the next verse with Paul, so Ringo and George were cast out on the couches, nothing to do.

The boredom that filled the room was becoming unbearable. Normally, he and George would chat or play cards, or just do something, but Ringo was just too tired to be using his brain. Plus, George hadn’t been the same lately, he probably wouldn’t want to play either.

“‘M going to have a smoke,” Ringo said as he stood up. George got up as well, “I’ll come,” Ringo moved towards the door with George trailing, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and offering one to George, to which he declined. “Why’d you come out if yer not havin’ a smoke?” Ringo chuckled, to which George simply shrugged. 

He was worried about the lad, but if there was one thing he had learnt about George, it was that he shut down when he felt uncomfortable, so Ritchie just didn’t ask. 

After a while, the cigarette died out, and Ringo turned to go back into the building. The two men wandered back into the studio room. George picked up a small guitar and began to strum a new song he'd been working on. “Sounds nice,” Ringo said, reaching for the newspaper. He almost didn’t hear the quiet “Thanks” that came from opposite him.

Ringo flinched when a door slammed behind them, “Oh,” Paul’s voice was scratchy, “You guys can go home if you’d like, we can do other parts tomorrow,” He said as he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. Ringo sighed, although he was glad he would get half the day off, “Well, see you lot tomorrow then, I guess,” He said as he grabbed his bag and walked out the door.

He got into a cab straight away, taking him home. Mo had left last night to go see her parents back in Liverpool, so Ringo was alone. The cold glass of the cab and the grey chill of outside only reminded him how dreary he felt. It was all a bit sad, really.

He unlocked the door and threw his stuff on the floor, walking to the glass cabinet and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The potent alcohol trickled and warmed up his throat as he relaxed back into the seat and switched the television on. But he still didn’t feel alright, he felt almost empty. His day had been rather empty, arriving at the studio and drumming out a line or two before wasting time lying down on the couch, coming home, watching TV and drinking. His days were becoming dull

About an hour into the news bulletin, he decided that he may as well pay someone a visit. Paul and John would probably still be in the studio, or at a bar somewhere. He supposed he could drop in to see George. Lately, George hadn’t been that interested in conversation, Ringo didn’t know whether it’d be good to give him his space or to make sure he was okay, but he had nobody else to visit, and he had already made up his mind to get out of the house. At the very least they could watch TV together.

He grabbed his and George’s keys, and walked out to his car. He drove the way to the house, letting himself in through the front gate. He knocked on the door, but began to unlock it, unsure if George was going to open it for him.

“Geo?” He called out, shutting the door behind him. He could hear Chuck Berry records playing loudly upstairs. He climbed the stairs and opened the door to George’s bedroom, where he was sitting upright, head against the glass. George hit his head on the wooden table beside him as Ringo entered in a mad scramble to get away from the door, giving Ringo quite the shock. “S’okay George! It’s Ritchie,” He yelled back. George sat back upright, as he smiled a bit, “Ritchie,” he said. Ringo was a bit taken aback by that whole episode, but he could see the far-off look in George’s eyes. He had seen it before in John as well. 

He walked over the the record player and lowered the sound, “George, where is it?” George was staring distantly at him, “C’mon George!” Ringo said, getting frustrated. “Is there any left?” George nodded, smiled a bit, and took out a small tin with two small sheets in it. Ringo snatched them out of his hand. He didn’t like the stuff himself, although he’d tried it once before. He was going to get rid of it.

John had told him it was pretty much harmless. But he knew how bad it could be, how people can think they’re flying through a field of colour one second, and be cold on a road the next. He was worried about George. George’s withdrawal was beginning to give Ringo a taste of life without him, and it was a lot less joyful. 

He sat beside the younger boy, listening to the record. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Just a bit funny, s’all.” George mumbled, still staring at the wall like it was a movie screen.

He’d have to keep a close eye on George.


	14. Chapter 14

Brian watched the grey skies from the window where he sat opposite George Martin, discussing the latest album. Revolver had been a source of consternation for both men, both afraid the public might not embrace the new direction the band was taking. Rubber Soul had pushed it, as far as Brian was concerned, and he was anxious that the next album may tip the scale. He was glad the album had been a success, but he was very wary of how quickly public opinion could change. As indicated heavily by the previous tour, the Beatles were not immune to hatred and anger.

It never felt like they were a big deal during studio recordings, sometimes it still felt like they were some skiffle group performing in a dark and damp cavern in the heart of Liverpool. Perhaps that atmosphere was what enabled the group to experiment as they did. However, the tours and other public engagements often reminded everyone just how many people were watching them. It especially reminded Brian how dangerous business was being the manager to the most popular band in the world.

He had honestly been afraid when they were performing in the Bible Belt. Brian had suspected there would be rioting and trouble, but nothing had prepared him for the terror that was the tour. He had received warnings and threats, some of them fairly detailed and menacing. He had spoken to the police on many occasions. They didn’t comfort him at all, they treated them like they were a group of entitled schoolboys. They didn’t seem to understand the danger they were in, the fact that it would just take one person of the seemingly endless seas of rioters to put one bullet in one gun and all would be over.

Thank heavens they were home now. His mind zoned back in, where George Martin was still going over the arrangements for the Revolver album. The last tour had been promoting Rubber Soul, despite releasing Revolver shortly before, and now he was here discussing the next tour. They hadn’t spoken to the band about another tour, deciding to let the memories of the last one fade before descending upon them with the next. Nevertheless, these things had to be arranged, and Brian had to discuss sound arrangements.

“Well,” George’s voice spoke, “We should get back to the studio.” Brian nodded his head in agreement. The pair walked back into the main building and over to the main recording booth. John looked up at the sound of the door, “Oi, Brian!” He stood up, “Could we speak?” 

John led Brian over to the corner of the room. “Somethings up with Geo,” John started. “ _ I know” _ “He won't tell us anything” “ _ Alright”  _ Brian was growing impatient. He had been worried about George, but he had greater problems to deal with right now. If there was something terribly wrong, George could come up and say something himself.

“I think he likes lads,” John said hushedly. The outward statement had taken Brian aback. “ _ Pardon?”  _ “I said I think he’s a bleedin’ queer” Now it was John’s turn to get impatient. “ _ w-why?”  _ was all Brian could choke out. He was certainly caught off guard. John’s face remained unchanged but his eyes gained a guilty quality. “Well, I said something yesterday, he was starin’ at some bloke, so I called him a queer and what-not, and he turned pale and ran off. Ringo said he was sick in the bathroom. Plus, he never leaves us alone, followed me into the bloody bog the other day,” Brian suddenly felt awful for George, remembering his own experience, hiding from his own friends and family. “ _ Would you like me to speak with him?”  _ “Whatever you think. Just thought you should know,” John said as he walked off.

The whole day, all Brian could do was watch George. Now John mentioned it, Brian could see it. It was as if George was constantly terrified. He remembered feeling like that. Watching your every move to make sure nothing was revealed. 

He decided he’d talk to George before everybody left for home, to put his own mind at rest. He was walking through the main corridor to get to the recording studio when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “Brian!” He heard a gruff voice say, “Have you seen Mal?” He turned around to see the American bodyguard. Brian noticed his untucked shirt and uncouth hair. It looked like he’d just woken up. He winced, the man smelt positively awful, “ _ I think I saw him in the break room down there,”  _ Brian pointed the way he came from. “Cool, thanks man,” The rather large man gave him a pat on the back before disappearing the way Brian had pointed.

He continued down the hallway into the recording studio, but only John and Paul were sitting there, hunched over the piano.  _ “Have you lads seen George? _ ” Brian asked. “Nope. Haven’t seen much of him for the past hour or so.” Paul said, as John chuckled, “Probably following Ritchie.” Paul chuckled at that, “Yeah, he’s been followin’ us ‘round nowadays like it’s bleedin’ Hamburg,” 

  
Ringo walked back in the room, “ _ You haven’t seen George, have you Ringo _ ?” Ringo just shook his head, “No, he’s probably headed home.” “ _ Right then _ ,” Brian sighed. He’d just have to speak to him tomorrow, nothing that couldn’t wait. It was home time, Brian was now officially off duty.


	15. Chapter 15

The water felt cold as it rushed past his palms. He cupped his hands and poured the water over his face. He knew he needed to snap out of it. It was his own fault, he was just standing there, staring into the wall. It had been a long day, and George had been too tired to focus on anything. Paul had just walked off, gone to find John or something, and George hadn’t noticed until he felt a hand on his wrist.

There was blood all over his clothes and skin. Smeared all over the floor as well. George’s body shook with each breath as he began to clean it up. It was nearly time to leave, so at least he wouldn’t have to wait out the day. 

He knew he’d have to leave the building silently if he didn’t want to answer questions. He could cover his shirt with his jumper, no problem, but every step he took he felt like his body was on fire. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, took a breath and opened the door out of the bathroom. 

He made his way to the booth to retrieve his wallet. It was just his luck that everybody was still there and in the room. He moved as silently as possible towards the couch where his jacket lay. He was nearly at the door before he heard Ringo’s heavy voice, “Brian was looking for you,” “ _ Oh, ok...thanks”  _ George’s voice was raspier than he had hoped. It hurt to speak, his windpipe felt crushed. “Everything okay?” Ringo asked, putting down his magazine and looking concerned, “ _ Yeah, I’m alright”  _ George replied swiftly before leaving the room. He had to get out before he had to speak anymore. 

He decided to go straight home. He didn’t want to look for Brian right now, it could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he needed to focus on getting away from here. As he walked past the bathroom, he could feel his stomach twist. He had to get away from the building right now.

Walking up the steps, he unlocked the front door. His legs and body were in so much pain he was sure he was going to collapse. He made his way to the bathroom, resisting the urge to vomit. Undressing, he turned the shower on. Looking at himself in the mirror, he began to cry. There was blood all across his stomach and inner thighs, amongst other things, and bruises all across his chest and neck. There was a cut from where the other man had sliced his side when George wouldn’t stop moving. Lately, he’d given in to the abuse, resigning to the fact that there was no way out of it. Whenever he struggled, there was a new cut on his back. He was in too deep, Ralph was there now. It wasn’t going to stop.

At least he was safe in his house. It was just him. But that was becoming the dangerous part. Patti was out somewhere in Paris, would be away for another month or so. He didn’t have to hide from anyone but himself. He’d taken to drinking a bit more than was healthy, even though it always made him feel worse. He was caught in a vicious cycle, and he couldn't see. any way out.

The telephone rang out into the empty house. George didn’t have the energy to go downstairs, so he lay on his bed and waited for the phone to ring out. The phone rang again, and George still didn’t get up, instead he tried to drift off to sleep. It was only when the phone rang a third time did George find his way onto his feet and downstairs. He held the phone to his ear, “ _ Hello _ ?” His voice sounded just as raspy. 

“Hey Geo, it’s Ritchie,” George sighed, “ _ Hey Ritchie _ ,” He supposed it would be alright to speak to Ringo on the phone. It meant Ringo could only hear his voice. The distraction was welcome anyways, an escape from his thoughts. “I was just wondering if you were okay?” “ _ Yeah, I’m good, yourself?”  _ George could hear Ringo sigh from the other end of the line, “I meant you didn’t seem yourself today, are you feeling alright?” George's attempt at diverting the question had failed, and now he had to come up with an answer immediately, “ _ Yeah, just a headache was all.”  _ The line went quiet for a bit, “Y’know we’ve all been worried about you George.” “ _ Yeah.”  _ It was a weak answer, but it was all he could say, “Y’know you can tell us if there’s anything up.” George wished he could tell Ringo how wrong he was. He knew he couldn’t tell them. They’d leave him, they’d, well… he wasn’t about to risk losing his friends as well.

It was past midnight now. He couldn’t sleep. He lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt empty. Void of emotions. Everything was dull. He could see no way out, but he didn’t even have the energy to feel angry or sad. The lack of emotions made the pain more obvious. He couldn’t move without feeling pain, couldn’t even think without a headache. He wasn’t living anymore, merely existing. Everything was doused in grey and fear, and it left him wondering whether it was all still worth it.


	16. Chapter 16

He thought it was mad to do another tour. Generally, Paul was in favour of tours. The screaming and sleepless nights often annoyed him, but the constant roar of love and obsessive devotion from the fans generally ignited his incentive to perform better and to write better. But the last tour didn’t do the same. The roar was not one of endless passion and worship but instead one of bottomless anger and hatred. He had survived, being able to tune most of it out, but he could see the effect it had on his bandmates, even now. They wouldn’t like another tour. 

But there was nothing that could be done. They would have to set aside the new stuff they were working on and head back all around Europe and the US and maybe even Australia and all of that. Brian had announced this ‘Grand Revolver Tour’ during lunch break in between recording sessions. It was evident John and George were against it all, as per usual, John getting frustrated and complaining, while George protested silently as his eyes grew soulless. Nonetheless, it was not a matter up for debate, and in a short time they would be packing their bags and jetting off whether they wanted to or not.

The days flew by as the departure date rushed upon them. They rushed to configure the songs so they were playable live. They’d jet off to Germany first, going all around that area, and do some stuff in Western Europe and then come back to London through the North. Tiring business, really, but they were being paid absolute fortunes. 

The day they left, as Paul predicted, John was half an hour late as a protest. The flight was relatively smooth. A short flight, only an hour and a half-ish. As soon as they landed, they took the bus to the hall. The four unloaded into the backstage of the hall, grabbing their instruments and making themselves comfortable in their dressing room.

The show went smoothly. Paul'd had his doubts, the songs on Revolver had been heavily reliant on loop tapes and he didn’t know how they were going to play them live, but it went well. It had been a tiring concert, however, and as soon as they got back to the hotel, Paul collapsed on his bed and nearly fell asleep straight away.

Nearly, that is, until John burst into the room, with George following. “Paulie, sleeping so soon?” Paul just groaned from his bed. “ _ What do you want, John?” _ “Well it’s mighty cold in our room,” “ _ And?”  _ “Let’s do a Beatle sandwich, lads.” “A what?” Ringo sounded tired, “Remember? Like in the back o’that van all that time ago,” John said as he jumped on top of Paul.

“Come on, Georgie,” John called. George was still sitting in the corner of the room, looking tired, while Ringo, John and Paul were all lying on top of one another, “Don’t be a drag, son,” John said “No, I really don't want to,” George said. “You don’t have a choice, lad,” John chuckled as he stood up and grabbed George. Paul would have protested, the poor lad didn’t look all that well, and Paul didn’t really feel like being covered in his sick, but he was too tired to say anything. 

“We’ll do me, then Ringo, then Geo and then you Paulie,” Paul only sighed as he lowered himself onto the pile. 

_ “Lads it’s my go in the middle now. It’s absolutely baltic up here, _ ” Paul said after some time. He got off the pile. Still, nobody moved. Paul only laughed, “ _ Pack of bastards _ ,” he said as he playfully knocked the pile over. John was laughing as he hit Paul in the head with a pillow, knocking him off the bed.

He rolled over to sit back up. George was next to him, having fallen off the bed. He was on his back. “ _ Geo, lad, alright? _ ” Something was wrong, he looked almost paralysed. His shirt had ridden up his back, and half of his torso was exposed. Paul was about to roll him over, but he saw the deep bruises that littered his skin. “ _ Oh my God, what in the hell happened? _ ” Paul’s voice was almost shouting in shock.

John snapped to Paul’s side almost instantly after hearing him yell, his eyes going straight to where George lay, “George, what in the bleedin’ hell,” John’s loud voice called. He stood up and left the room. Ringo was now sitting beside Paul as well.

Suddenly, George pulled his shirt down, “It’s nothing,” His gravelly voice said, He tried to sit himself upright against the bed. Ringo helped him sit upright, Paul just sat there in shock. Surely a fall off of the bed hadn’t hurt him that badly. “What’s wrong now,” Brian’s tired voice rang through the double suite as John led him in. “George’s bleedin’ battered up is all,” John said, frustrated.

Well, the night had certainly gone south. The five men now sat in the bathroom, George on a chair next to Ringo, refusing to speak. Brian and John opposite. Paul was sitting on the corner of the bathtub, silent. He closed his eyes. It was nearly midnight, he was tired. He didn’t know what had hurt his mate. John had told him earlier about his suspicions that George was queer. Maybe that was it, maybe he was hurting himself. Paul didn’t know. Paul did care. But he didn’t know what he could do. He felt guilty for feeling as calm as he did, but if George wouldn’t speak, then he couldn’t help. 

The worry drifted to the back of his mind as Paul rested his head against the cold tiles and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they quit touring after the last US concert but the next tour is kind part of the storyline so sorry xx :)
> 
> I hope everyone's doing all right in quarantine. Stay safe xx


	17. Chapter 17

Well, they were off to an awful start. John was in a terrible mood, as he did whenever he was stressed, George was clearly not okay but he wouldn’t speak, Paul had practically given up and Ringo just wasn’t sure if he had the strength to pull them all together. 

What Brian didn’t quite understand was they needed a break. The last US tour was packed with stress and trauma, and a week of rest didn’t quite cut it. Going back to the studio after a week had been pushing it, but going back on tour after a month was completely insane. 

He had been sitting in one of the dressing rooms, splayed out across a sofa. They were on in three hours. Ringo had no idea why they had gotten to the hall so early. He also didn’t know where the others were. He was running on about five hours’ sleep, being kept up ‘till past midnight with last night’s drama, but his plans for a quick sleep were thwarted when some sound technician entered the room and directed him to the stage.

He wasn’t quite sure why they even had the sound checks anymore. The audience couldn’t hear the music anyways. He walked across the stage and into one of the three storage rooms to grab the bass drum. He didn’t mind setting up his own drums. At least it gave him something to do.

He picked up two of the bags that held the toms. The crews fussed around a lot. He could hear constant thuds against the wall of the second store room along, microphone feedback from the stage and there were so many wires running over the floor that it was a miracle he didn’t trip. The fact it was all for them fed his ego a bit more than Ringo would care to admit.

The show went ok. Ringo slipped up more times than he could count, but nobody got shot and everyone seemed alright. Good enough for him. They loaded back into the car pretty quickly, leaving their guitars and drums for the roadies to deal with.

They got up to their rooms. It was only Paul and Ringo, John and George staying in their rooms. It was unusual to get a night as quiet as this on a tour, normally it would be all four boys in the one room until Brian intervened and demanded they go back to their own rooms. He supposed it was because they were all tired. None of them had gotten much sleep the night before. 

The two sat in considerable silence util Paul spoke, “Ritchie, do you think George’s queer?” Ringo was taken aback by the sudden statement. “ _ What makes you say that?”  _ “John thinks he is. I didn’t think so then but now I’m not so sure, now he’s gotten all those bruises, maybe he’s hurtin’ himself, y’know,” Paul must’ve interpreted Ringo’s silence for confusion, feeling the need to explain himself further, “I mean, there was some other stuff apart from that, but John has a point. I’m really worried about him,” Paul stared at the window pensively, having said his piece. 

Ringo was slow to respond, “ _ I wouldn’t worry so much Paul, you worry all the time. Brian’ll sort him out. Nothing that can’t be fixed,”  _ Ringo’s words were meant to be comforting, but he did worry about George. He’d been dropping into George’s house every couple of days or so, checking and making sure he was alright on his own, and more often than not George had been high. Ringo had thought he’d been depressed or bored or something, but the bruises Ringo’d seen yesterday said something else. Maybe it was something that couldn’t be fixed. But Paul didn’t need to know that.

The conversation soon died, leaving them in relative silence, with the exception of Paul's gentle guitar strums. Tired, Ringo rustled around in his bed until he was under the covers. He thought he may as well get some sleep while he could. Ringo closed his eyes and tried not to think of his problems as he drifted into slumber. 


	18. Chapter 18

John shifted from side to side until he finally gave up and opened his eyes. He couldn’t find a position where he wasn’t freezing his arse off. The bloody hotel had awful heating, and John was beginning to think that the ‘heater’ was blowing cool air into the room because he wasn’t sure if it was naturally possible for it to be this cold.

He heard the tap running in the bathroom. The alarm clock beside his bed told him that it was past midnight.

He got up out of bed. There was no use trying to fall asleep, he wasn’t going to. He knocked on the bathroom door, “ _ Geo, alright? _ ” The door opened, and John was face to face with George. “Yeah, just needed to use the bog,” he said as he lowered himself into his bed. 

John wished he could crawl in next to George. Surely the other boy was freezing just as much as he was. They always used to have to share beds anyways, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. But did it change things now that he knew George liked guys? 

Well, it was between swallowing his superiority over George and maybe even some of his own ego or acting as Scott of the Antarctic over back on his own double for the rest of the night. He decided the former option was definitely the least dreadful.

“What do you reckon you’re doing?” George said, chuckling. “ _ Don’t tell me you’re not freezing as well,”  _ John opened up the covers and slid in. It was only a touch warmer. George let out a sharp laugh as John started leeching off of his warmth, “ _ Shove over,”  _ John whispered harshly.

John opened his eyes again at 6 in the morning. He was still deathly cold. He could see George’s own body next to him. He was shaking almost as much as John. John put an arm around George to steal more of his warmth. He moved his body right up to George’s to take as much warmth as possible. 

John awoke once more as his body was shoved hard into the mattress. He opened his eyes in confusion. George was screaming and fighting to get out of John’s grip. John released George and jumped out of bed, startled. “ _ George! Jesus Christ! Calm down!”  _ George nearly fell off the other side of the bed as he scrambled to get as far away from John as possible.

Paul raced into the room. “The FUCK is going on?!” ‘Sorry,” George’s voice was small. John’s frustration turned into pity as he heard the fear in George’s voice. The three men simply stood in silent shock as Brian raced into the room. “WHAT is going on?! You’ll wake up the whole building!”

“It was just a nightmare and I got scared when I felt someone else next to me.” Judging by the looks of Brian and Paul’s faces, George’s explanation didn’t cut it. “Why were you two in the same bed?” John could almost hear the venom in Paul’s words. Why? Did he think John was queer now. “ _ Because it’s bleedin’ Baltic is why,”  _ John’s own voice was a bit angrier than he had meant for it to sound. “Well it’s 6 now, we’re supposed to be up in an hour, so there’s no point in going back to bed,” Brian sighed as he left the room.

As soon as Brian left, Paul walked over to George, “Okay, what the hell is going on? You've kept us up almost every night worryin' for you,” Paul’s voice was angry. “Nothing,” George replied, “No, I’m not asking if anything is wrong. I know there’s something. Answer me.” George looked to John, pleading for help. John only shook his head. Paul was being cruel, but George had it coming to him. He can’t expect to disturb Paul’s ‘beauty sleep’ and expect to get away unscathed. 

Only 6 in the morning? Last night had felt like it had lasted a year. A yawn passed through his body. God, he was exhausted. Something told him it was going to be an even longer day.


	19. Chapter 19

He took one deep breath, and then another, and he kept breathing in and out slowly. Hands hit against the windows of the car, but George kept his eyes trained on his knees, blocking out the insanity that surrounded his peripherals. He felt Ringo turn in the seat next to him, looking out the back window, watching the flocks of fans chase after their car. George’s heart jolted when the car stopped. Following John, George stepped out of the car. His hearing faded a bit, overwhelmed by the roar of the masses. He kept his head down, nearly stepping on John’s feet he was walking so close. 

He jumped at every hand he felt grab at his hair and clothes. He focused again on his breathing, trying to block out everything. They finally got to the steps of the building. George finally turned around, taking in the sight. The sheer magnitude of fans spread out like a vast ocean and the sight left him standing in awe. He felt a hand at the back of his collar, Paul had noticed him standing like a stunned bug and had tried to drag him into the hall. The only issue was, George hadn’t seen that it was Paul, and he struggled and nearly choked himself on his own collar. “Geo! Stop it and hurry up,” Paul’s frustrated voice boomed, pulling him harder.

The show went alright. George didn’t even care if he played well. He knew well and good that he could start playing random notes and the audience wouldn’t suspect a thing. Getting off stage, it was the private car waiting for them. George preferred having the tour bus, more space, but he wasn’t going to complain.

As always, they’d gotten back to the hotel, had showers and watched television. They decided they all wanted to go out for a walk and had gone out to some local German bar, and then they came back. John raced into the elevator and tried to close the door on the other three. Ringo slid in between the closing doors as they shut and left the other two Beatles in the hotel lobby.

“Well I’m not waiting for the next lift. It’s only three flights of stairs,” Paul said as he opened the door to the stair hall. George’s legs were already dying from the walk, each step feeling like they were being ripped apart. He knew he wouldn’t make it up the stairs, “ _ You go, I’ll get the lift. m’exhausted.”  _ George said. His voice was slurred, the product of too many drinks. “I’d wait with you but I’ve gotta make sure John doesn’t eat the rest of my chocolates, See ya' up there” Paul said as he bolted up the stairs.

The lift had been going up for ten minutes and it didn’t look like it was coming down for a while. He needed to pee, he may as well go now in the lobby bathrooms.

He opened the door to the mens' room. Straight away he saw the back of a familiar figure’s head standing by the mirror. A wave of fear passed through his body and he closed the door and moved as quickly as he could back down the passageway. His mind was sluggish, slowed by the alcohol. Still, surely Ralph hadn’t noticed him. As he turned the corner, George thought he was safe.

But George was, once again, wrong. It had all happened rather quickly, a hand to the back of his collar, except this time it wasn't Paul, swung him into some store room. His head was against the cold brick wall, but he could feel the other man’s warm breath. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you. I knew you were down here. I watched you all day, on stage, little blasphemous motherf----rs you lot are," He moved his head next to George’s face, so he was whispering right into his ear. George almost couldn’t hear what he said next over his quick breathing. "I saw you come back from your little walk, I saw you alone in the lobby. I was always gonna get you tonight. We're on tour now. My job is to watch you,” His words sent George into a spiral of panic.

The man pulled at George’s belt, unbuckling it and pulling his clothes down. George’s mind was racing, the alcohol making him feel bolder, and in a moment of fear and fury, pushed the other man back, “ _ Stop _ ,” was all George was able to say. 

He regretted that when a hand came flying to meet his neck. “You know what you’ll get for that?” Ralph’s menacing voice sent shivers through George, as the bigger man pulled out a pocket knife and drew a shallow line across George’s arm. The smaller boy screamed at the pain, but barely any sound made it past the hand that was clamped over his mouth. “Are you gonna be good?” George nodded quickly, his breathing now staggered. The man clasped George’s mouth tighter, barely giving the boy any time to rest before pulling the knife across his skin a second time.

George had stopped fighting back. That had been his last shot, and he had two shallow slashes on his arm as a warning. He knew the man wasn’t afraid to do more. He felt his legs nearly ripped apart, the pain becoming so much until it became numb, as Ralph roughly abused him. The other man ground George into the jagged wall so hard that when he left the room there were small patches of blood left on the brick.

Cleaning himself in the men’s bathrooms felt like some surreal world. It felt like some alternate universe. George’s drunken mind had yet to process the abuse he had just been subjected to. But the pain was very much there.

Getting back to the hotel room, George had a shower. It was so painful, the bullets of hot water falling on the broken skin of his back and behind, but the pain was outweighed by George's overwhelming desire to clean himself up and scrub all he could off. 

He went straight to bed as soon as he got out. He wasn't willing to pretend he was okay in front of the others. He knew he was at breaking point. The others dismissed it as George being drunk and tired anyways, so he wouldn't have to justify odd behaviour when we woke up.

He used to feel excitement at being a part of a group. They really were his brothers. Now he felt fear and exhaustion. He felt scared of what they would do to him if they found out and he was tired of trying to cover up everything all the time. They were all he had left, and he knew he couldn't afford to lose them. He’d stopped throwing up lately, he used to do that as a reaction to being overwhelmed, but the shock factor had faded and been replaced with an underlying and never ending sense of hopelessness. He was truly powerless. There was nothing he could do to be safe on tour. Just like Ralph had said, there was nowhere that George could go where Ralph couldn’t follow him. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self harm trigger warning
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter xx

Absolutely typical. He had specifically told the boys last tour that under no circumstances were they allowed to leave the hotel without telling him. They never seemed to realise how much effort Brian had put into their safety. He’d gone to the effort to nearly double the security for this tour and how do they say thanks? They bloody up and leave to go running the streets of Germany unguarded. 

Brian was left standing in the middle of an empty hotel room staring down at a note from John. He hadn’t even been bothered to write more than five recognisable words. It was moments like these that made Brian wonder if all the fame and riches were worth it. He gave up and walked back to his room. There was nothing he could do except take painkillers to dull his headache. He would wait until the morning before confronting the group, he was afraid that if he saw them tonight he might kill one of them.

He got barely any sleep. He almost never did. The past year he’d been so stressed that it felt like he was constantly on the verge of a heart attack. The clock read six o’clock.  _ Good enough,  _ Brian thought. They didn’t need to be up until seven-thirty, but it didn’t seem likely that he would be getting much more sleep, so he may as well get changed and ready.

He knocked on Paul and Ringo’s door first. He was too tired to be angry anymore, but he was afraid that could change if the first person he saw that morning was John Lennon. He knocked again, but there was no answer. “ _ Boys! Get up, be ready in 15”  _ He was done waiting around, and he moved to the next room.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. No answer either. Brian made a mental note to give them a lecture on manners before tomorrow. He knocked once more for good measure, and was about to call to them as well when he heard feet move against the carpet on the other side of the door. 

The locks clicked from inside the door as it swung open. John had been halfway through brushing his teeth and walked back into the room, spitting into the basin. “‘Morning, Eppy,” John called from the bathroom. Brian entered the room. “ _ Morning boys, how’d you sleep? _ ” Brian asked, “Awful! Bloody hotel’s freezing at night,” John called from the bathroom. Brian looked around the room. They had only been there a night or two and they had managed to absolutely trash the place, clothes, food plates and wrappers discarded everywhere. He had no doubt that the majority belonged to John. He nodded at George, who was still in his bedclothes and watching the TV. His day shirt lay beside him, crinkled to within an inch of its life. But that wasn’t what concerned Brian. What caught Brian’s eye was the small blotches of red in the wrist fabric of his bedshirt. It took him a fair bit of time staring to process the image, but he knew what it was. He’d seen that a few times. He knew what it meant.

People had always told Brian that he paid good attention to fine detail. He supposed it was what made him successful, noticing the slight trends and intricate subtleties that allowed him to be ahead of the game. He knew perfectly well what that red stain meant. But he couldn’t bring it up now. Not in front of John. He looked back up at George, who hadn’t seen him staring, and was himself staring zombie-like at the television set. “ _ Just be ready in 15,”  _ Brian sighed as he turned to leave. He would deal with it as soon as he could, the problem with George obviously worse than Brian had thought. 

Within twenty minutes the boys were ready and outside their rooms, where Brian had been waiting. “ _ Before we leave, I want to make this clear. You are not to leave the hotel without telling me,”  _ Brian’s voice was calm but strong. The four apologised in a dismissive chorus and it seemed to be the end of that. 

They got to the hall two hours before their first concert to beat the crowds. It didn’t do much, though, as there were still seemingly thousands of screaming teenagers. 

They got into the hall as quickly as possible. They entered the backstage room, assuming their usual positions, which was John lying across the sofa and the others taking any other seat they could find. “ _ George?”  _ Brian may as well have a chat to the lad now so he didn’t forget later. “ _ I’ve got to speak to you,”  _ The younger boy stood up and followed him out of the room.

“ _ Take a seat,”  _ Brian sat in the next dressing room, “ _ Is there anything you want to tell me?”  _ George’s deep brown eyes looked straight at his. Brian still saw the skinny kid from the Cavern. 

George shrugged, and Brian knew that he wasn’t going to be very co-operative. Brian wasn’t quite sure where to start. “ _ Do you hate me?”  _ Brian asked calmly. “What?” George seemed somewhat taken aback by that question. 

“ _ Well, do you think I have a bad life?”  _

“No,” 

“ _ Do you think it’s bad for men to like other men?’ _

“No,”

George didn’t seem to be getting the message, so Brian decided just to get straight to the point,

“ _ Do think you might be a queer?”  _

He looked even more taken aback by that question, “I- I don’t know” He paused before adding, “I think so,”

Brian nodded. They both were silent for a moment. Until George spoke. “But I don’t think I fancy men,” 

“ _ Well, if you don’t fancy men then how come you think you’re queer?”  _

George shrugged but his eyes got watery. Brian knew he ought to give George a break, but he didn’t know when he’d get another chance to talk. He couldn’t leave it until it was too late.

“ _ Lad, give me your hand,” _

George looked at him oddly but lifted one hand.

“ _ Other hand.”  _ Brian said, before adding,  _ “I’m not coming onto you, don’t worry.” _

Brian pulled George’s shirt sleeve back behind his wrist and exposed the two cuts on his arm. “ _ What’s going on, George?”  _

George pulled his arm back, “Jus’ some scratches from going out last night,” 

Brian knew very well he was lying. “ _ No they aren’t. Are you hurting yourself?” _

“No! They’re jus’ scratches. I’m fine.” George’s voice barked. 

Brian hadn’t expected that. The room was once again silent until George stood up and wiped his eyes as he left his manager sitting alone in the barren dressing room.

Brian just didn’t know what he supposed to do. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning there's bit of swearing in this
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think :))

“Right boys, forty minutes until you’re on,” Brian’s authoritative voice came from the opening door. The manager stood in the middle of the room in an attempt to summon everyone’s attention. The room stayed quiet, and Ringo turned to see John and Paul and their guitars in their own little world. “Ahem,” Brian said, frustrated. That seemed to grab Paul and John’s attention, and the three Beatles looked towards Brian. “Where’s George?” He asked. They all shrugged. Ringo didn't think he'd seen him since he left the room with Brian. Nobody really kept tabs on one another once they got to the concert hall anyways. “Probably in the bathroom pissing his pants, you know how he gets before shows,” John added snidely. “That’s quite enough of that. One of you go find him. I need to speak to the four of you.” 

“Ritch,” John volunteered for him, nodding towards the door.

Well, at least it gave him something to do. He stood up with a sigh and left the room. Checking in the bathrooms first, he found no trace of his missing bandmate. He walked along the passageways. He checked one empty dressing room and then the next and the next to no avail. He looked around the control room with the cords and amps. He just couldn't find him anywhere.

He could hear faint thuds on the other side of the wall, the crews probably messing around with the stuff. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check. George had to be somewhere.

He knocked on the door of the room. No reply. He tried the door handle, which was oddly locked. “ _ Hello? Can I come in?” _ He put his ear to the door, he could hear someone inside. He knocked again. There was a rustle before a click, and the door inched open. 

Ringo didn’t expect to see Ralph. His face was red and he really did smell terrible. “What?” Ralph’s rough voice spoke. Ringo was silent, “ _ Well, what are ye doin?”  _ Ringo tried to look past his shoulder. He could sense something was up. “I’m just gettin’ out the cords for the sound crew,” Ralph growled. Ringo didn’t buy it.

He pushed the door further, which Ralph mustn’t have expected, because it took hardly any force to squeeze through. But before he could even look around, there was a hand pinning his neck to the wall. He lifted his hands to try to pry them off but the man was too strong. The man dragged him higher up the wall so they were eye-to-eye, and that was when he saw what he had been looking for.

George. The sight made Ringo choke. He sat slouched on the floor with his back to the wall. His shirt was unbuttoned and ruffled, and his lower half was completely naked and bloodied, his pants and undergarments flung to the corner of the room. He had tears running down his cheeks. Ringo looked back at Ralph, and tried to speak, “ _ What the fuck is going on?! _ ” At first, he didn’t think the bigger man heard him, but then he felt hot breath on his ear, “It’s what you did. You’re all the spawn of satan. This is God’s revenge,” Ringo’s heart sunk in realisation.

The man put a knife to his side and released his grip a small bit. “If you make any noise I will stab you,” Ringo couldn’t see George any more, the larger man obscuring him from view. The man unwound Ringo’s belt, the movement sending shivers through the smaller man. He knew he couldn’t just stand there. Gathering his courage, he began to scream for Paul and John and just about anyone. Sure enough, a sharp pain broke through his side as the bodyguard inserted the knife into Ringo’s side and pulled it back out again, “What the fuck did I say?” Ralph said through gritted teeth as he tied Ringo’s belt around the boy’s head and mouth and his own around Ringo’s wrists, “That’ll shut you up,” 

Ringo collapsed on the floor. His side felt numb and his head felt light. He looked down. He could see a bright patch of red spread across the fabric of his shirt. He looked over at George. From the floor, he could see him a lot clearer. There were bloody handprints smeared across his inner thighs and blood all over his legs and pooling on the floor. There was some whiter stuff as well.  _ No. No it isn’t.  _ Ringo’s eyes refused to look away.  _ It couldn’t be.  _ Ringo’s breaths became shaky as he figured out what Ralph had done to George. He and George locked eyes as Ralph lifted the youngest boy off of the ground. He was going to do it again right there. To torture the two at the same time. He placed a hand over George’s mouth and pinned him to the wall.

Ringo tried once again to scream his bandmates' names, but barely any sound came from the belt that covered his mouth. Instead, he kicked at the wall. He kicked so hard that his foot made a hole in the wall. He was losing blood quickly, but the sight of George being abused in front of his very eyes only made him kick harder. 

His kicks became weaker and weaker. Ringo’s breaths were long and shaky, and he knew it was only a matter of time until he passed out. He put his ear to the wall, listening for anybody that could come help them. Five minutes seemed like years when all he could hear was Ralph's grunts, George’s muffled screams and an indescribable sound that made Ringo nearly throw up. 

“George? Ringo?” He heard a faint call from Paul somewhere down a hallway. It was enough to give him hope. He began to frantically make as much noise as possible, thrashing his head and feet into the wall until he was on the cusp of consciousness.

The effort seemed futile, Ringo waiting seconds in desperation for any reply. Until he saw the door knob turn. He could make out Paul’s voice, “George? Ringo? Are y’in there?” Ringo gathered what was left of his strength and took the opportunity to make sound against the walls. “Lads, if this is some joke I’ll feed ye both to the teenage girls,” John’s raspy voice said. Ringo looked over at Ralph, who either didn’t hear the voices or didn’t care. Ringo kicked the wall twice for good measure and then pressed his ear right up against the wall,

“- can’t just break the doors, John. I’ll go back and get the keys.” 

“Keys? What if they’re not even in there. I say we just go back to Eppy and tell ‘im that the other two are right bastards and the show will go on just fine without them,” 

Ringo’s heart sank at the words but he could almost feel Paul’s disapproving glance from behind the wall, 

“Alright, Paulie, just be quick.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt john for all of you :)
> 
> thanks again for reading

John stood with his back against the wall. They had less than forty minutes until the concert and George and Ringo were pissing around. He didn’t even know if they were in the room, but he was fed up with whoever thought they were good enough to lock the door and ignore his calls. At HIS concert as well. What a nerve.

“ _ Got ‘em? _ ” John asked as Paul walked to the door. He nodded as he unlocked the door. 

John could sense the danger as soon as he walked in. First he saw Ralph, who was standing tall and facing them. The man was built like a bloody ox. “What the hell?!” Paul’s yelling snapped John out of his distraction. He looked at Paul, who was staring at Ringo. The older boy was lying in a pool of his own blood, his mouth and arms bound with belts. 

John’s attention moved back to Ralph when the bodyguard punched Paul square in the chest, taking the keys and dead-locking the door. “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Ralph’s voice was menacing, “The devil lives through you. I am here to punish the Antichrist.”

He launched at Ralph without any more thought. John was strong and tough, but possibly not enough for Ralph, who was a professional bodyguard. He hit the taller man in the head twice before he was thrown against the wall and pinned. His glasses fell off of his face and onto the floor. John struggled against the man’s weight, as the bodyguard pulled something from his pocket. He flipped it, and although the image was fuzzy, he could see it was a bloodied blade. John and the man locked eyes, and he knew what was going to happen next. He yelled as he felt a searing pain in his torso as Ralph plunged the knife into his flesh. 

The two stood locked against the wall as John’s hearing faded and came back. He could hear Paul screaming for Mal or Brian or anyone. He could feel blood trickling out of his body, and his breaths became shallower. He felt sticky with cold sweat. John looked at Ralph again, and he felt the anger flow through his body as he moved his wrist to strike Ralph in the abdomen. A hand wrapped itself around his neck, making breathing even harder. John’s hearing faded again, he was running out of oxygen quickly. 

Then, all of a sudden he could breathe again. Not very well, but enough to regain control. There was a thick black band around Ralph’s neck now. The bodyguard’s face was quickly turning a deep shade of scarlet as Paul wrapped the belt tighter around his neck. John kicked him in the groin to make it quicker. The bastard deserved that.

As Ralph fell to the floor, unconscious, the boys could finally hear the frantic knocks on the door and the yells from the other side of the wall. John had never heard Brian that frenzied, “BOYS what the HELL is going on?! Is that you?! It’s been thirty minutes! You’re going on in 10! I don’t have my keys!”

“ _ Brian _ ,” John’s weak voice sounded like it was breaking again, and he reached for the stolen keys from Ralph’s pocket and unlocked the door. 

Brian’s eyes and mouth were wide open as he observed the room. John could only imagine how shocking it would seem to him. From the other side of the door, John could hear a murmuring crowd of roadies and security and basically everybody else who was interested in Brian’s screaming. He was relieved when Brian closed the door behind him. Nobody else needed to see this. “What the FUCK.” John had almost never heard Brian swear, although it was probably the least shocking thing to happen to him today. 

“John! Is that a KNIFE?!” John looked down. Indeed it was, he’d forgotten that the knife was still lodged in his chest, a small trail of blood staining his white shirt “Don’t pull it out or you’ll bleed out.” Paul exasperatedly told John. Brian was crouched by Ringo, who could barely lift his head. The older boy’s breathing was shallow. John looked at the spreading pool of blood that sat beneath him. It certainly was more than he had thought he’d ever see come out of one person. 

“George _ ,”  _ Ringo coughed out. John hadn’t even seen him in the mad rush. Sure enough, turning around, there he was. And what a mess, his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and he was ass-naked. Blood was smeared all over his legs and the poor lad looked like he was on death’s doorstep.

“Oh my lord,” Brian said. “George, what happened?”

“Nothing.” George’s voice sounded like it was breaking as well, his eyes unmoving from his ghostly straight-ahead stare

“Well something very clearly fuckin’ did,” Paul’s voice wavered in distress. 

“ _ Is that- _ ?” John noticed that there was more than blood 

“Yes.” Brian knew what he was about to ask

“ _ So Ralph- _ ” Now John’s voice was panicky.

“Yes.” Brian’s voice was fraught with worry. “Paul, call an ambulance,”

“George?” John was frozen in place as he watched Brian try to help George

“Just get me pants back ‘n stop looking at me,” Geo choked. Tears were rolling down his face and his breathing was staggered. 

“We’ll all stop looking at you, George, if that’s what you’d like, but I can’t get your trousers because I don’t know how badly hurt you are and I don’t want to hurt you more.” Brian reasoned. George opened his mouth to argue, but only tears trickled down his face.

The look of pure shame in George’s eyes was not foreign to John. He felt sorry for the poor lad, that he’d been, well, molested. Geo was one of his best mates and to see him like that really hurt John more than he’d care to admit. 

John walked over to Paul, who was waiting on the phone. 

“ _ Paulie, hand us yer jacket _ ,”

“Shut up John, I’m trying to speak to the ambulance. Whaddya want it for anyways?”

“ _ Just give it here. _ ” John took the suit jacket from Paul’s shoulders and walked back over to George

_ “Here ye go, cover yerself if you’d like, _ ” John handed the jacket to him and sat down beside the boy, careful not to touch the, er, funk.

The two boys sat in silence. He tried not to look at George. He loved the lad like a brother. He could sense George didn’t want to talk. John didn’t particularly want to speak either, he didn’t know what he could say. He had a habit of making things worse. 

It was all his fault. Ralph had said it, loud and clear. It was the one comment that the stupid world didn’t seem to understand. It was his own stupid ego that wouldn’t let him apologise. He’d secretly cried to himself the night before the Memphis concert, afraid something would happen to one of his band members, and still he didn’t apologise. Now that they had gotten back, he had thought they were safe, thought he'd come out on top. What’s more, Ralph was only brought on because John wouldn’t apologise. Him and his stupid pride. And now they were all very nearly dead.

John really was a stupid git.


	23. Chapter 23

Stalking was one of Ralph’s many strengths. He found he was very good at scouting out his targets at their weakest. Although, the boy hadn’t made it very difficult for him lately. Ralph had caught him many times, wandering the hotel buildings or concert halls. Ralph knew he’d picked the right target. He could see George’s insecurities, the dismissal he faced by the group. George couldn’t afford to say anything just as much as Ralph couldn’t afford to be caught, plain and simple.

Yes, he’d admit he had gotten a bit carried away. It was like a drug, he was addicted to the thrill he got whenever he caught George alone. His aim was to cause as much damage as possible, and as every day passed he felt as if his goal was getting closer. 

He’d taken the boy many times since the American tour. He’d watched the effect it had from afar. He’d even heard Brian voice his concerns in the privacy of the staff’s quarters. And nobody suspected Ralph at all. 

This time he’d seen George leave some dressing room, tears running down his face. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for him when Ralph followed him into some far-off storage room. The kid had pleaded, like always, to just leave him alone. But they both knew Ralph wouldn’t do that. The devil deserves no mercy.

Ralph did the same as normal, pinning him against a wall. An awkward angle, but eye to eye contact was important. It made it personal. Ralph wasn’t doing it for the sex, it wasn’t like that. George was evil. It was a punishment, to establish his power.

After he had, well, discharged, Ralph kept him pinned to the wall. The boy was shaking, but Ralph didn’t feel sorry for him at all. 

As Ralph got his breath back, he heard knocking at the door. It startled him a little, but he had devised a plan for a situation like this. Withdrawing himself from George, he tucked his shirt back in and re-zipped his pants, unlocking the door and inching it open slowly.

He began to worry when he saw Ringo. Anyone else, stage, lighting, sound or management crew he could convince to walk off. But he knew the band was wary of him, Ringo the most. He tried to tell the boy he was busy. Despite his best efforts, it became clear Ringo didn’t believe him when he pushed his way into the room.

Ralph had pinned him to the wall, tying belts around him to silence him. Still, the little bugger screamed bloody murder, and Ralph had no choice but to stab him in the guts.

He locked the door again. This certainly was bad, and put some holes into his plans, but it wasn’t impossible. In fact, maybe it would be advantageous. He knew he’d get caught now, there was no way he would escape this. But that fact was not as devastating as he once thought it might be. He served the lord only, and would be fulfilled as long as God had revenge. Now he didn’t have to be so careful about being caught. He had nothing to lose, he could do what he wanted. Hell, he could kill both kids, either way he’d waste in jail. He may as well. But that could wait.

He turned around and went back to the other kid. He pulled George up by the hair and put a hand to his mouth. Ringo watched from the floor, his eyes widening as he realised just what Ralph was about to do. 

He took George again, this time doing it right in front of Ringo. It was the biggest buzz Ralph had ever had. He was fed by George’s shame and Ringo’s horror as both emotions hung heavy in the air. He could feel the kid beneath him gasp for air in between pained shrieks. 

The sound of the lock stopped Ralph’s heart. He zipped his pants back up and violently shoved George down to the floor before standing in front of the door. It opened, and in walked John and Paul.

The look of shock on both of their faces was enough to give Ralph eternal joy. But he knew he’d have to act quickly. This was the greatest day of his life, his moment of redemption, and he wanted it to last for as long as possible. Making the first move, he struck the dark-haired one in the chest before taking the keys from his hand and dead-locking the door. 

He hadn’t anticipated John’s sudden outrage, and so he was dealt two punches to the face before he could fight back, pinning John to the wall in one swift movement. He clearly had the upper hand, but he’d have to deal with John quickly, knowing Paul would come to any moment. He took out his blade and stuck it into John’s rib cage.

Ralph mustn’t have been fast enough, though, because soon enough he felt something cutting into his neck. A belt was pressed into his throat, and he couldn’t breathe very well at all. Everything started going fuzzy as he fell backwards.

  
  


A bright light pierced through his eyes and made the back of his head hurt. He looked around, the stark surrounds disorientating him. 

It took him a few seconds to process his memories. If his neck didn’t feel so goddamn sore he’d have thought it was a fantasy dream. He noticed there were arm restraints binding him to the bed. He’d been caught, but so what? He’d done what he meant to do.

Soon enough, a man in a police uniform walked into his room and sat in the seat beside his bed. 

“Now that you’re conscious, I’ve come to tell you that the police will take you into custody.” Ralph sat patiently, in silence. “You’ll have the right to an attorney, whether you choose to hire your own or use an assigned court attorney.” 

Ralph looked into the man’s eyes. His plan was to stay silent, but a question was burning a hole in the back of his mind, “ _ Is the kid alive?” _

He didn’t expect an answer, but he knew he had to ask. It was probably just as well, because the policeman only stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Ralph alone in the harsh hospital room.

Ralph only chuckled to himself as he rested back on the hospital grade pillows behind him. He had dealt his cards, all he had to do now was hope it was enough.


	24. Chapter 24

He’d been in a state of shock for about two hours now. They’d whisked Ringo and John away the first moment they could, and Brian was stuck filling in forms and waiting for George and Paul. He was at least glad that he had the sense to put his own name as the first medical contact for all of the boys, or else he’d have to make a lot more phone calls right now.

They’d given him his own waiting room, and every now and then a nurse would come in to update him or ask for details. He was glad they’d given him the privacy, although he knew he’d have to face the press at some point. God, would there be a lot of explaining to do. If they thought John’s comments caused pandemonium, boy, were they in for it now.

Hours ticked away, no news came. Paul was cleared for injury and kept Brian company. The room was largely silent, the two not knowing what to say to each other. Brian just wanted to say he was sorry. He was sorry for hiring Ralph, or for not paying more attention, but he couldn’t find the right words. 

The door opened, the nurse returning. “Mr. Epstein, the doctor would like to speak with you.” Brian stood up and followed the nurse out of the room, Paul following behind him. The nurse led them into some small room, two desks in each corner of the room. She directed Brian and Paul into two seats in front of the right desk and told them to wait for the doctor.

In walked the doctor. He sat behind the desk, pulling papers out of the top drawer. Brian shook hands with him before he began speaking. 

“I’ve been overlooking the treatment of both Mr. Harrison and Mr. Lennon,” He began, “We’ve given Mr. Lennon stitches, he was lucky for the knife to miss his lungs. The tip hit his liver, but that should repair itself. As for Mr. Harrison, he’s being examined by a sexual assault nurse. We’re not sure how badly injured he is, but once the nurse has finished the examination we’ll be able to run tests.”

Brian felt Paul shiver beside him.

“ _ What about the police? _ ”

“That all depends on what legal action you wish to take. We can call them here any time to arrange an investigation.”

Brian wasn’t sure if he’d have the energy to deal with the police as well as the media and the other three Beatles, but he figured he owed at least that much to George.

“ _ Yes, please.” _

They’d let Paul and Brian in to see John and George one at a time. They’d barely entered John’s room when he pelted them with questions about George and Ringo. It was almost as if he’d missed the fact that three hours ago he’d had a knife sticking out of his ribs.

“ _ Not sure. We haven’t been to see them yet.”  _ Brian began, “ _ How are you feeling?” _

“Fine. Can I go see them?”

“ _ No, you’ve got to stay in bed for as long as the nurses say.” _

John pleaded and pleaded for them to take him along, but Brian didn’t need any more drama. John was staying put.

Visiting George took a bit more of a toll on Brian’s sanity. The doctors had cleaned up all the blood, but the poor lad’s exposed skin was still dotted purple and he had a bad black eye. The sight made Brian choke on his words.

“Hallo George. Alright?” Paul’s voice wavered.

“Is Ritchie ok?” George’s voice croaked.

“Haven’t seen him yet.”

The room fell silent, nobody knowing what to say.

“How are you feeling?” Paul’s face quivered, probably recognising how stupid it sounded aloud.

“I’m okay. Not dead.” 

Brian could almost feel Paul tensing from across the room, but it was too late to stop anything.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Paul’s voice was solid this time, quiet but angry.

“Paul -” George tried to explain himself, but stopped after one word. He didn’t have an answer. 

Brian should’ve stopped it there. But he didn’t. He was too tired for rationality.

“ _ How long?”  _ Brian heard a voice. By process of elimination, he figured it was his own.

George looked up at him. He could see the pure fear and shame in his eyes. He knew he should have backed down then. But to his surprise, George answered.

“Since America.” 

“Cor, Geo, You didn’t trust us to help? Is that it?” Paul’s voice started getting louder, and this time Brian did act. 

“ _ We’ll speak later. Come now, Paul.”  _ Brian looked over at George, who now looked as if he were about to cry. He put a hand on George’s, thankful he didn’t pull away. “ _ I'm sorry.”  _

He hoped that was enough as he took Paul out of the room.

Well, that didn’t go how he had expected. But he wasn’t sure how he had expected it to go. He was glad he didn’t bring John. If Paul got frustrated, John probably would have attacked George. 

Had it really been happening since America? That long? The poor kid. Brian should have noticed. He should have. Brian had his opportunities to help George, and he’d missed them all. He wondered what it would be like when they all got out.

Brian was glad it was Paul with him when he was forced to face the media. Paul was best at keeping his head with the press. Had it been Brian’s choice, he wouldn’t have spoken to the news at all, but seemingly every reporter in existence was waiting for him out the front of the hospital, and the hospital staff were pushing him to answer their questions so they could go away.

“Mr Epstein!” shouts came from left, right and everywhere. It was disorientating, probably more so for Paul. Flashes from cameras blinded him. He nearly fell backwards, but he pulled it all together. He had to get this over and done with.

Every second answer to a question was ‘no comment.’ Many of the reporters were German news stations, but most spoke English. Brian knew he sounded like he was hiding something, but he really just had no idea. It all still seemed like a bit of a nightmare. None of it felt real, and yet it was all too real. 

He eventually retreated to the safety of the hospital room. He’d deal with the rest of the press later. It was only one thing off his list, now he had to deal with the police, the other three and now whatever headlines the newspapers decided to print out tomorrow. He was sure he’d be able to get hold of an English paper.

Despite the searing headache he felt shooting through his head, he managed to close his eyes and find sleep on the rough couch. It was probably less sleep and more a stress black-out but it worked the same. He’d leave all that stress for tomorrow.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry this took so long to finish, and also sorry if it's not great... It's been a while hahaha
> 
> Hope u enjoy!!

He felt like he was suspended in thin air for the entirety of the ambulance ride to the hospital. His head felt both light and heavy as he rested it against the side of the car. His whole body was numb and throbbing. He was sitting in a seat next to Ringo, who was unconscious on a stretcher. Ambulance paramedics were rushing around him, issuing codes of random numbers and letters that meant absolutely nothing to Paul.

They arrived in the hospital through the back way. The ambulance drove straight into the internal carport, allowing them to escape the early reporters who had caught wind of their ambulance escort. He couldn’t believe they would be performing right now, how his whole world could just change in one hour, how only one hour ago John and he were just songwriting as per usual. 

He felt dizzy with everything that had happened. After giving him a thorough check-through, Paul was cleared to go sit with Brian in some sort of private waiting room. 

He had never seen Brian so on edge. The poor man looked as if he was just going to shrivel up and die any time soon. Paul had no idea what to say to Brian, he hadn’t even fully comprehended the situation itself. The two men sat in silence, not quite able to discuss anything.

After some time, they were shepherded into some doctor’s office. Paul was anxious to hear news on his bandmates, his brothers whom he loved so much. It still didn’t seem true that John and Ringo had literally been stabbed, and only God knows what was wrong with Geo. It was like some surrealist nightmare.

The doctor had led them into John’s room first. John was sat up on the bed, stitches and bruises on his torso. He looked tired, but a lot better than Paul had feared. Brian turned to leave, satisfied John would live. Paul had been reluctant to follow him, fearing facing George and Ringo. John had protested being left alone again, but even he knew not to bug Brian on anything, and let it be.

George’s room had an almost eerie atmosphere. They had cleaned George up but the bruises on his face were garish reminders of his abuse. In the hospital gown, Paul could see just how skinny Geo had grown. The kid had always been thin, but Paul could almost see the outline of his skeleton. The sight caused him to tense up, Paul growing frustrated at Geo. How could he let it get to this? Was it happening the whole time? Questions rushed through Paul’s brain, and it was only a matter of time until one slipped out.

“ _ Why didn’t you tell us?”  _ Paul knew it was a hard question to start with, but Paul wanted answers. He didn’t care if he was reckless anymore, whatever was happening would have to get worse before it got better. George’s denying answers wouldn’t cut it anymore. 

George’s answer to one of Brian’s questions was like another blow to the chest. America? It had only been three months since they left for America, a month and a half since hiring Ralph, but it had felt like an eternity. So that explained his ‘sickness’. And he didn’t tell them? That whole time? It was hard for Paul to tell exactly what he was thinking and what he was saying aloud. 

“ _ Did you not trust us?”  _ George looked overwhelmed by the interrogation. Brian obviously didn’t agree with Paul’s method of questioning, and quickly left George’s room, dragging Paul behind him.

“Just give him a break, Paul,” Brian’s voice was reasoning, “We’re all worried for him, just hold out on the questions. There’ll be time for that later.” Brian barely gave Paul any time to argue back before walking towards the hospital reception. “I’ve got to deal with the press now,” he had said. Paul followed his manager out of the door, knowing he’d need as much help as he could get.

The reporters wouldn’t get much information. As far as Paul was concerned, it felt as if he and Brian knew just as much everyone else. Ten minutes they spent at their make-shift press conference on the steps of the hospital. Ten minutes of ‘no comment’ and the blinding lights of the photographers.

The moment they stepped back inside, Paul knew what was next. He followed Brian, who was making a beeline towards the information desk. Still no news about Ritchie. The nurses had said that he had been taken to critical care, he’d lost a lot of blood, and they’d just have to wait for his doctor to come to them. 

When Paul and Brian got back to the room, two policemen were waiting for them. It felt like they had job after job after job, and Paul wondered if that was normally what it was like for Brian. He’d have to take it easier on their manager from now on. If there was a from now on.

They weren’t much help to the police officers. They knew barely anything, only who they wanted to charge and how long it had happened. The rest they’d have to go to George for.

When the police left they were replaced by a man in a white coat who introduced himself as Ringo’s doctor. The report was better than Paul had feared, Ritchie was getting blood transfusions and what not but the stab didn’t puncture anything special and he was on the mend. Good news, provided the circumstances.

By the time that had all finished, they had spent two hours in the hospital. Only two hours! Time felt like it was suspended, and it gave Paul all too much time to think. 

He was losing his calmness. He used to be so good at keeping a level head and keeping positive, something that he really had to develop after his mum died. But the past month and a bit he had really been losing his temper at some of the most ridiculous things. As hard as it was to admit, it was probably because the reality of being famous had started to get to him. It had taken around five years, but the last American tour had made painfully clear his new reality as a pop star. Now he got frustrated at the most ridiculous things. The amount of times he’d erupted at his bandmates for mistakes during concerts, or song arrangements or song credits. He couldn’t even put into thought his frustration at George. Paul almost laughed at the cruelty of it.The poor kid had been dragged through hell, and somehow Paul was angry at him.

Paul realised he’d have to change if he wanted his old life back. There was a long road ahead.


End file.
